Content
by DemonUntilDeath
Summary: Content: to be satisfied with what one has. It's nothing more than a softened word for those who are 'happy' because they don't know anything better. I used to be just like them. I used to be content. And I used to be happy about. Yaoi
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Obviously, I don't own an anime series. If I did, I don't think I'd be writing **_fan_**fiction. . Not that I'm complaining.

**Notes**: A new summary is up now that this story is better planned out and not just a first attempt at an AU to avoid writer's block!

**Warnings**: As stated in the summary, this is _**yaoi**_**. **If you are not a fan of such things, please do not continue reading what you will not enjoy. Thank you.

-o-o-o-

**_Content _**

_Chapter 1_

-o-o-o-

--click--

Stupid, stupid, stupid Urameshi.

--click--

Why the hell couldn't he take his own damn shots?

--click--

It will really save my life, my ass. Damn ten minutes notice.

The short man gave an irritated growl as he stowed his camera away, back into it's well-padded, black carrying bag. Zipping the top shut to keep any of the soon-to-come rain off the highly advanced piece of equipment (not to mention costly!) the man turned and began down the fragmented sidewalk.

"Stupid Yusuke," he growled once more as a distant roll of thunder had him hunching his shoulder to puff up the high collar of his trench coat. Glaring up at the sky, he once more checked the safety of his camera, before starting down the street, his coat wrapped tightly around his thin frame.

Hiei Jaganshi, photographer of Hakushiki Magazine, hated the rain. Throughout his entire life, that cold, murky form of weather had always been present during his worst times. As if it's entire existence was simply to make life miserable.

Whether it was to dampen his clothes and drench his hair or even go so far as to cause a near-death experience, the rain had always been there to thwart him.

The small-framed man was almost famous for his child-like appearance. Short in height, Hiei could not be much over five feet, even including his spiky hair.

The long tresses of his midnight colored locks were the oddest of all his appearance. Sticking straight up to defy all laws of gravity, his black but blue-tipped hair had long ago become a signature notable primarily by the star-shaped portion above his forehead, dyed the purest white.

Almost as known as his anti-gravitated hair, Jaganshi's large, oddly colored eyes had always been an object of many stares. The bloody depths of his deeply crimson eyes always had such an intensity to them that few could discern the truth behind their authenticity.

Yet we speak as if the world would know this young man's face. This, alas, is not the case. Although far from world famous, or even obtaining countrywide acknowledgement, the young photographer had quickly climbed the charts with his near perfect shots.

The twenty four year old had easily gotten his job at Hakushiki Magazine when he brought in a live shot of a robbery, the picture having so much perfection in its timing that, even if the burglars had not been caught beforehand, the picture could have named them in the hands of expert detectives.

Hiei didn't truly know why he got such amazing pictures. Photography was his hobby-turned-profession. He admitted that, yes, he did have talent but most of his success could only be granted by pure luck.

Right place at the right time.

The story of his new life.

The oxymoron of his past.

Well, something had to eventually turn to his favor, right?

Hiei growled as the rain began pouring down, pinging on the ground with enough force to create a steam-like appearance against the asphalt and sidewalk.

-o-o-o-

"There."

Yusuke Urameshi, three-year journalist of Hakushiki Magazine, glanced up as a small, pale hand slammed down on his desk, a manila folder face down under that palm. He glanced up to see angry red eyes glaring at him in a mix of triumphant annoyance.

All the raven-haired writer could do was smile. "You saved my ass, Hiei."

"So I kept telling myself," the photographer answered, pulling back his hand for his long-term friend to pull the manila folder towards him. "And yet, somehow, that did so little to quell my annoyance."

Yusuke could only widen his smirk as he pulled the large photographs from their protective paper. His teasing smile quickly turned to one of almost simple happiness. The pictures, as they always were, had beautiful resolution and held an elegance of simplicity that told much more than any words could describe.

The journalist smiled, appreciating the work put in to the shots, as he set the pictures of the decaying apartments on his desk. "I'll get these to Touya as soon as I can. Thanks, Hiei. You really did cover my ass today."

"Yeah yeah, as always," the smaller man growled out, but there was no anger in his voice as he turned away, shouldering his camera bag and heading back out of the man's office.

Yusuke Urameshi, bold and loud-mouthed, smiled at his friend. The journalist was far from similar to the smaller man. For primary comparison, the height must be noted first. The writer's build was tall and well built yet lean with unseen muscles trained to strength.

His deep, raven-black hair was always greased back in public; too much gel to count kept it in a sleek shine. A few strands of hair, loosed from the thick goo, fell in front of his chocolate brown eyes. If anything were to be the writer's trademark, those candy eyes would have been it.

Looking deeply into those orbs, one could easily see not only Yusuke's own past, present, and future, but one's own future reflected in rich, golden brown eyes. Pain through experience showed through glimmering pools and the wisdom of age not yet reached could be easily discerned in the simplest of looks of or the sharpest of glares.

With one glance from that raven-haired mystery, one could feel his own future lay out in the writer's hands, open for everyone and everything to see.

Those eyes, at the moment, were glinting in hidden humor as they watched the back of their retreating friend.

-o-o-o-

"You're kidding me."

"Heh, not even," Yusuke grinned as he dumped the manila folder, pictures once more within the safe walls of paper, on the thick counter in front of him. Beside him, the towering man grabbed them slowly, peeping briefly within at the contents.

"How do you do it, man? Hiei hates everyone!" the beady eyed, beyond friendly, man shook his head, handing the pictures back as he opened the copier and slid in another sheet, replacing the last. Pushing the _enter_ button, he turned back to his life long friend.

"He doesn't _hate_ anyone," Yusuke said, tucking the envelope under his arm. "He just doesn't _love _anyone, either. Give him a break, it's not exactly like he's the optimistic, cheery fellow that greets everyone at the door."

"Yeah, I guess not," Kuwabara agreed reluctantly as he picked up the hundred or so copies, pulling out the original. "But I still don't understand why he goes out on a limb only when _you_ ask him to."

"Pft, he does it when he wants to, not when I ask him to," the raven-haired writer replied as he turned, walking out of the small workroom with his companion. "I just happen to know the right time to ask. Besides, how would you know? You've never asked him for anything."

"Except his approval!" Kuwabara growled back. This man, tall and looming as he was, could be described as nothing more than the gentle giant. Standing at least six and a half feet head to toe, the pompadour styled, orange-red haired man was kind and polite to anyone and everyone who looked to even possibly return the favor.

"Che', idiot, that's because you want the hand of his _only_ living relative! And his twin, no less!" Yusuke growled in an almost ludicrous manner. This subject had come up too many times to still stay patient with the taller man. "I told you, give him some time. He'll accept it at his own good pace and with his own damn mannerisms."

Kuwabara did not reply as Yusuke opened the door to the feature editor's office. Instead, he slipped inside with the copied papers, followed shortly by his fellow journalist.

"Hi'ya, Touya!" Yusuke greeted the icy haired man behind the desk cheerfully. Silvery blue eyes, purely natural to the last splash of color, glanced up from his computer screen when the two entered his office.

Sitting behind the modern, metallic desk in the center of the room, a couch to one side, a small table with a coffee pot and small television to the other, the feature editor of Hakushiki Magazine raised a thin, similarly blue eyebrow at the two writers.

"Please tell me you finished your story, Yusuke," the man asked, his voice already betraying his oncoming headache. Or, at least the one he was sure he'd have in a few minutes.

"Yep! Finished it and sent it to your e-mail already. Ha, you thought I wouldn't meet the deadline, didn't you?" Yusuke asked in a teasing voice, fully knowing that there were few who didn't know of his procrastinating nature.

"Without a doubt, Yusuke," Touya answered truthfully and without a moment's hesitation. He shook his head to the journalist's pouting form of reply and he stood, holding out his hand to the manila folder Yusuke held. "Jaganshi's photos, I presume?"

"Correctly, of course." The raven-haired man easily handed him the folder even as Kuwabara shifted to drop the papers on the editor's desk.

"Those inserts you wanted, Touya," he replied almost grimly as he pulled away. "I'm not doing those this time. Find someone else before you hit a deadline."

Touya gave a small smile, nodding at the orange-topped man. "Of course, I owe you for the last issue."

Kuwabara merely mumbled some agreement, but there held no bitterness in the grumble and a small roll of his beady black eyes left Touya knowing the taller man held no grudge.

"Okay, I'll put your story in the layout, Urameshi, but only because you keep telling me it's so damn good," the light, aqua-blue haired man once more addressed Yusuke, sitting back down to enter his e-mail account and retrieve the "fabled" story. "I have a deadline to make, so I'll see you two later."

The two men took that as their cue to leave and both turned, exiting the office to leave the editor alone to his precious work.

-o-o-o-

"No."

"Come on, man, I owe you one."

"No."

"Come on, you never do anything after work but…more work!"

"No, Yusuke."

"It's just a bar!"

"What part of 'No' does your brain just _not_ comprehend?" Hiei zipped up his bag, glancing around to make sure he'd grabbed everything. The raven-haired man beside him was pouting again.

"But you never come with Kuwabara and me! It's just a few drinks, Hiei," Yusuke said as he leaned against the pillar-like support for their particular floor.

The plain, almost borderline boring cubicle formed "office" that Hiei resided in was small and absent of those annoying, claustrophobia-inducing walls that so many offices held nowadays. In fact, the entire floor of Hakushiki Magazine was just desks arranged in a semi-orderly fashion throughout the floor, the personal offices lining the side walls.

"I told you no, I meant no, I'm sticking with no!" Hiei growled out as he shouldered his small, black bag and turned. Weaving out of the line of desks, he began heading for the back of the office, towards the chrome elevators.

Yusuke put his hand on the elevator door, stopping Hiei from moving towards the button. He leaned in mockingly as he taunted, "It's just a few drinks."

"And you're so close I can already smell _your_ drunk breath." Hiei ducked his arm, going underneath and feeling incredibly foolish as he played _London Bridge_ with his damn coworker. He pressed the down button, praying the doors would open so Yusuke would fall on his face from propping against them.

"Aw, you're such a jerk, man!" Yusuke, who had had no alcohol recently, pushed off the wall seconds before the annoying "ding" went off, signaling that the elevator had arrived. Hiei only snorted, his good wishes thwarted, and stepped into the elevator.

His coworker followed.

"It's just drinks."

"You've said that. Twice now, I believe."

"Well, it's just that!"

"And it's just not happening!"

"What, you scared of having fun?"

Hiei sent a long, hard glare at the man. Damn it, if there was one person who knew how to manipulate him, it was the dumb, stupid, mother fu-

The fire demon gave a silent sigh. "Fine. Drinks, but that's it."

Yusuke let a triumphant smirk show. The raven-haired man turned away, staring at their reflection in the elevator door as it began to descend. "Right, just drinks."

Those chocolate brown eyes seemed to glint mischievously, an occurrence that Hiei did not miss.

_'God, what have I gotten myself into?'_

-o-o-o-

**Author's Notes**:

…_long tresses of his midnight colored locks… _If you think about it, I really like that description of Hiei's hair. Because, even at night, the sky will often look a color of midnight blue mixed with darkness close enough to be black, I chose that color to describe Hiei's hair, since he has black hair but blue tips. I have no idea why I fancy this, but I do. 8D

…_A few strands of hair, loosed from the thick goo, fell…_ Did you know that "Goo" is not a real word? Funny…you know, everyone uses it, too. 8P

**End Author's Notes**

Wow, I actually think that's all of them. Short and sweet and never to the point.

Hope you guys liked it and please review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything (still).

**Notes**: Well…there aren't any notes. Sort of pointless to point that up then...Kinda like a pencil with an eraser on either end...

**Rated**: Now bumped up to Mature (for future chapters)

**Warnings**: AU / Yaoi / Tragedy / Possible character Death / the risk of the author having no clue what she's doing with this story

Thank you to all my reviewers! I'm so glad that you guys like the story so far!

-o-o-o-

**_Content _**

_Chapter 2_

-o-o-o-

Hiei Jaganshi opened the door of his apartment to reveal his two coworkers.

Yusuke Urameshi smirked as Hiei growled and turned abruptly leaving the door open for the raven-haired man to step through, followed shortly by Kazuma Kuwabara.

"You ready, man?" Urameshi asked, glancing briefly around the apartment, through he'd seen it several times before. Hiei had entered the kitchen, tidying up things not untidy.

Kuwabara sat down on the kitchen stool, which sat in front of the cut out in the wall that separated the kitchen from the open apartment; it formed a sort of bar. He looked at Yusuke as the man came up to the kitchen entryway, pulling something black from behind his back.

"Yeah, I just have to-" Hiei's sentence was cut off as Yusuke came up behind him and grabbed the bottom of his dark green T-shirt. Before Hiei could even mount a counter-attack or a yell, Yusuke pulled the man's shirt off.

"Urameshi!" Hiei's raged scream echoed through the kitchen as he whipped around with a now bare chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You can't go dressed like that. Here." Hiei blinked at the piece of black cloth shoved in front of his face. It took him several seconds to recognize exactly what it was, and it was the fabric that gave it away.

"I'm not wearing that," Hiei growled as he tried to get his T-shirt back from the writer. Yusuke smirked and dodged, weaving the black shirt in Hiei's face.

"Come on, Hiei. You're not going to the bar in a T-shirt," Yusuke all but ordered as he dodged yet another well aimed attempt for the shirt.

"Well I'm not going in a muscle shirt either!" Hiei growled out as his fingers slipped over the cloth. "Stop moving, damn it, and give me my shirt!"

Hiei's fists began shaking as Yusuke handed him the black, fitting shirt.

'_God this is so embarrassing._' Meanwhile, Kuwabara had taken to staring at a very interesting speck of non-existent dirt on the wall. '_If Yusuke didn't have a girlfriend….'_ Kuwabara shuddered.

"Come on, Hiei!" Yusuke smirked. "I though you were in martial arts!"

That was it. Hiei snapped and tackled Yusuke, growling in an almost feral manner. "Give me my shirt back!"

Yusuke laughed as he hit the floor, holding the green article of clothing over his head. With a shrug, he grabbed Hiei's shoulders and rolled.

Hiei looked surprised for seconds before he was once more trying to get his shirt, this time having to deal with Yusuke straddling his abdomen. Moments later, Hiei gave up the fight for the shirt if only to get Yusuke the hell away from him.

Kuwabara could not have been more embarrassed by his friend and coworker. After several more minutes of the two rolling on the ground, Kuwabara keeping an intense stare on that non-existent spec as well as humming to himself to block out the two (Yusuke laughing and Hiei all but screaming in fury) the two finally stopped.

Hiei, pinned to the ground by Yusuke's strong hands on his upper arms, glared at Yusuke, conveying a promise of death. Yusuke was smirking triumphantly down at the form fitting, partially see-through black shirt covering Hiei's torso.

"Urameshi," Hiei began, his voice shaking with rage, "get off me before I tell Keiko that you pulled off my shirt and pinned me to my kitchen floor."

Yusuke's eyes widened and he 'Eep'ed, pulling off of the shorter man immediately. Hiei growled and climbed to his feet, glaring down at the black shirt.

Of course, Hiei would never tell Yusuke's girlfriend that. That would men admitting that Yusuke got his shirt off. Admitting that Yusuke had actually been able to pin him to the floor.

That would be a major threat to his pride

He had no doubt in his mind that Yusuke knew that.

"See, much better!" said the raven-haired idiot, glancing quickly at the shirt, which showed off Hiei's extremely well fit and muscled torso.

"I didn't fail to notice that you're not wearing one." Hiei's voice was cold and daring, daring Yusuke to find a reasonable reply.

The detective was obviously not paying the slightest bit attention to that warning. "Course not. I'm not looking for a girlfriend!"

"And who's to say I am!" Hiei screamed out, his fists once more shaking. Yusuke laughed.

"We do!"

Kuwabara snorted, covering it with a cough that ended up sounding like he was choking. He had wantedno part in this.

"I'm not wearing this," the shorter man once more resorted to his obstinate growl, crossing his arms to cover his body. Yusuke just smirked.

"Sure you are. You can just cover it with that leather jacket you got last year."

-o-o-o-

Hiei was brooding in the back of the car, a leather jacket wrapped around his lean body and red eyes glaring at the journalist in the driver's seat. Every time Yusuke glanced at him in the mirror's reflection, the raven-haired man would smirk.

"Oh, hey," he suddenly spoke after the long, deadly silence. Hiei's gaze flickered to the rear view mirror as Yusuke looked at his reflection. "You didn't bring your camera with you, did you?"

Hiei scowled at Yusuke's tone. What did his cameras have to do with the bar? And why the hell was the orange-haired idiot turning red?

"Hn. You think I'd bring my **cameras** to a **bar**?" he growled incredulously at the man. Yusuke smirked.

"Good, because where we're going – " Yusuke turned down a street and Hiei quickly realized that they were heading into the worse parts of town. "– They don't allow them."

Yusuke pulled into a parking lot some blocks down and shut of the engine. The parking lot wasn't too crowded, but a small stream of people entered through the large black-tinted glass doors every now and again, creating a pretty steady stream.

Hiei looked up at the sign to the bar and his eyes widened. He'd heard of this place.

"No, Yusuke. Not only _no_, but _**hell** no_, Yusuke!"

-o-o-o-

"Urameshi-san." The man before them was…huge. That was the first and foremost word that came to mind, followed or possibly surpassed only by "giant."

He stood at least seven feet tall, pushing possibly towards eight. His amazingly broad shoulders looked built for one purpose: American football. This guy wouldn't even need the pads.

And yet, he looked as lean as Kuwabara. An interesting combination, if somewhat unbalanced.

His smaller head, a head that seemed not fit to sit atop such a giant's build, was long-faced and could be handsome, if he took off the sunglasses. Dark black hair covered the smaller head thickly, but left a wide forehead free of the black strands. The rest of the man's face was stern and intimidating, all except his hidden eyes.

"Hey, Toguro-san!" Yusuke greeted with a mock salute. "How've you been?"

This giant, now known as Toguro, ignored the question with a shrug. "Are you here to see the boss?"

"Eh." Yusuke waved off the question, especially when both of his comrades gave him a questioning stare. "Late, Toguro-san. At the moment, we're looking for someone to loosen up our friend here!"

Hiei's scowl deepened so much that Kuwabara feared it might become permanently engraved in his skin as Yusuke wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Toguro smirked at the three comrades.

"Find a table, I'll send someone to get you drinks," Toguro answered as he moved out of the doorway. They were in an inner foyer, not very large; obviously meant to be a station for the bouncers, an area to double check everyone entering. The bouncer, A.K.A _Giant_, would normally stand in this room to check ID's and age of those entering.

_Giant_was actually entering the club behind the three newcomers.

As soon as the door was pulled open, Hiei was greeted by the obnoxious blare of hard beat music and flashing blue and white strobe lights.

They had entered actually entered a huge warehouse, once used as a storage for the cargo carried by the nearby ships in the harbor. Bought and transformed into a nightclub, a large, arched bar ran along both sidewalls, the chrome tops reflecting the flashing lights. Shelves of alcohol lined the walls behind these counters, where several bartenders dressed in sharp black pants and very revealing, low-necked tops (adorned by both male and female) served the many customers sitting at the bar.

Between the two bars were tables lined with chairs, most filled with occupants. The tables were practical, rather than the restaurant type and held little or no ornament other than the iron wrought makings. These black tables were centered around the dance floor, which spread out throughout most of the warehouse, having no particular geometric pattern to its build.

The ground, made mostly of clear but sturdy glass squares to allow the colored lights beneath them to shine through, stood at different levels. Much of the ground was elevated higher, creating a sort of stair step throughout the bar. Upon these "stairs" were various things one might find in a nightclub, including dancers' cages, occupied by scantily dressed persons, various poles and other objects with which to show off one's...elaborate abilities of dancing, or grinding one's hips against metal, as one particular girl seemed very occupied with doing so.

A winding staircase at either corner of the back wall led to a second story loft. Once designed for permanent storage of containers, the loft type room was now dimly lit, containing various couches and loveseats and provided a much softer, more romantic sort of outlook. Above the flashing bulbs and screaming music, the more reserved and higher paying customers could be found there.

As Yusuke led them through all of this (save the second story, that was a mere, distant observation,) Hiei tried not to blush at the people dancing on the floor, their bodies so close that it appeared to be less like dancing and more like humping (a word he cared not to remember as part of his vocabulary.)

Others, employees of the club, were walking around and getting too close to customers for Hiei's comfort. Some, however, were simply carrying trays of drinks, taking orders or delivering more brain-killing alcohol.

Their outfits were less than conservative, ranging from costumes you could find at a Halloween superstore, to see-through plastics and fabrics too tight to be actual clothing. If anything, this caused Hiei to scowl and look away, hiding the blush (most likely from seeing a man in a tight nurses outfit bend over to reveal _way_ too much) behind his fierce demeanor.

Yusuke stopped at the booths separate from the mainstream of the club, lining the front walls and being furthest from the dance floor. Kuwabara, who was not doing as well as Hiei as hiding his blush, slid into the seat in a sort of defeated manner, followed by Yusuke. Hiei had taken the other side.

"So, what do you think?" the raven-haired man was staring intently at Hiei's fierce glower. Hiei's glare, if possible, deepened.

"We're in a strip club, Yusuke," he growled slowly out from behind clenched teeth. "What would you like me to think?"

Whatever Yusuke _wanted_ Hiei to think, however, would never be known, as a soft voice from their right caught all three men's attention.

"Hello, boys, what can I get you to drink?"

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 2_

End

-o-o-o-

Really odd place to stop, I know.

Anyhoo, we all know who that is! But, no, this won't be like every other story you've read about Kurama and his occupation. Just wait and see, there are surprises ahead and one of them is that Kurama _will be in character_! SHOCK!

No OOC here! Least, not that we can help!

So, sorry about the odd place to end...but it leaves all you girls drooling over whatever Kurama's wearing. 8D

Well, I must apologize, also, for any mistakes. I did a read through to double check it but I am really tired for some reason and just want to get this posted. I won't have the time tomorrow or, for that matter, until next weekend if it doesn't get up tonight. And I just want to go to sleep now.

Hope you guys liked it. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Yeah...what's this word mean again?

**Notes**: ...N/A. In other words, too lazy to think of any to post.

-o-o-o-

**_Content _**

_Chapter 3_

-o-o-o-

"Hello, boys, what can I get you to drink?"

Hiei looked up to meet crystal clear green eyes. Or, perhaps crystal clear was incorrect. The eyes looking at him were of emerald jewels, crystalline beauty showing in their own smiling manner. Yet, they were clouded deep in their sparkling depths, hiding the bottom of the endless waves of washing forest green waters.

The photographer immediately picked up something hidden in those drawing eyes.

But his own crimson orbs finally broke away from the newcomers and instead took in the rest of the view. Luscious, but pale lips were drawn into a thin, but welcoming smile that seemed to accept everyone. It was the smile of one who knew how to attract others.

A lean, thin face betrayed how little the newcomer ate, yet held a flush to it that gave it a warm, healthy look. The heart-shaped face was tilted ever so slightly to the side, giving the crooked image of a cute puppy longing to make a new friend or have a stick thrown.

Flowing over his pale skin was hair so bright a crimson color that it appeared like bloody water falling over his skin. It shone as that liquid substance might when brought before the sun, though the "sun" may be replaced by flashing club lights in that case.

Hiei scoffed at this. The haired seemed more nurtured than the thin body that followed.

And it was definitely thin. A long, slender neck was visible beneath the low cut black vest, and met soft shoulders, smaller in stature than _Giant_'s by far, slimmer than Yusuke's. A very flat chest, surprising Hiei for mere seconds, identified the newcomer as a definite male.

His black cloth vest was tied tightly with black string and stopped at his ribs, showing off a skinny, if not feminine waist and hips. A definite curve in those hips betrayed the newcomer's masculinity but the visibility of his pelvic bones ended any further curvature. And, while his hips bones were visible above his low cut pants, they aided the man's thin look, and he dressed well to hide any unhealthy side of it.

Despite the large amounts of visible skin, the man looked healthy, just skinny.

Long, tight black pants with skin colored designs flowing over his thighs, clung to his lower hips and small, well-rounded butt. Hiei shook his mind as that particular description floated through his mind, and he immediately discarded it as a lack of alcohol and a presence of too many people for his comfort.

Hiei flinched slightly as Yusuke elbowed him in the rib and he turned to his coworker with a glare. He growled, "What?"

Yusuke gave him a raised eyebrow. "Your turn. What do you want to drink?"

Hiei glanced back at the man before them, who was still smiling at him, though amusement danced within his eyes. The photographer growled, setting a heavy glare on him. "Anything with alcohol."

"Well..." their waiter seemed to think about this falsely for a moment and Yusuke snickered, Kuwabara joining in. "That's pretty much everything at the bar, considering that's what a bar's for. So...If I brought you that much, Cutie, you'd end up in a coma."

Yusuke and Kuwabara burst into laughter as Hiei's face burned slightly red with anger and the fact that a stripper was making fun of him. The waiter winked and turned away, calling back that he'd bring the three beers requested for.

Hiei turned to give a sharp glare at Yusuke and Kuwabara, but his two companions were still laughing so, with a look to kill, he slid out of the booth.

There was no way that some gender-confused, redheaded stripper was going to humiliate him and get away with it. Frowning which was really more like scowling, Hiei started after the redhead.

He was moving through the crowd, a tray held up above the heads of the others and his hips swaying in a sensuous manner. The photographer kept his glare steady as he arrived at the bar, where the stripper had just pulled up at, setting the try down on the counter and conversing lightly with the bartender.

Hiei leaned against the bar beside him. "How do you expect to get any business treating customers like that?"

The redhead turned to him with slightly widened eyes, as if just noticing that Hiei stood beside him. He gave a dazzling smile that Hiei countered with a deeper scowl. Leaning against the bar, one hand on the tray that the bartender was slowly filling, he tilted his head slightly.

"Well, you followed me, didn't you?" His voice was sultry, but not overly so and showed absolutely no sign of wanting something out of the photographer.

Nonetheless, it caused Hiei to growl low in his throat. To think that this man before him, no not even a man, there was no way this man was out of his teens. To Hiei he was just a boy.

"I didn't follow you to give you business," Hiei growled out in annoyance, his voice gruff with a dominating personality. The redhead just smiled.

"Oh, but you just did. You see, I bet this lovely gentleman right here that I could get you to follow me after I left your table," the man said in a pleasant, soft alto voice that just spoke yards and yards of an innocence Hiei didn't believe in.

The man beside him, wearing a rather warn business suit raised his cup to the redhead. "Damn, getting the one guy in the entire club not enjoying himself. You're _good_, Kurama."

Hiei's eyes narrowed as Kurama tipped his head in a slight bow. The man dug into his back pocket and pulled out a few twenties, handing them to him. Kurama tucked them into his tight pants, Hiei absently wondering how anything else could possibly fit into those pants.

"You're still loosing profit, because after something like that, no one would want to come back here," Hiei reprimanded, trying to keep his scowl on his face. Kurama smiled, placing his other hand on the try with the first, looking the photographer in the eye.

"Well you didn't really want to be here in the first place, so I don't think you ever had the intention of coming back," the redhead answered with a smile, though his face had fallen into a more serious expression. "And also, the only kind of people who this works on are people like you, those not planning on coming back. So I'm actually increasing my profit."

Hiei, if he were one to blush in anger, would be bright red. Lucky for him that he wasn't, and only the tiniest color tainted his skin, while his eyes burned under the humiliation this man was dealing him. Although, the photographer didn't care much for other's opinions and so wasn't very humiliated.

But that didn't make any difference. What mattered was the fact that the boy before him was _trying_ to humiliate him.

"And to think you could me putting that intelligence into something worthwhile that would get you a more steady income," Hiei retorted, knowing now that he was nearing that line you didn't cross with people. He was borderline on being rude at this point, so much more than he had ever intended.

But it was something about this boy in front of him that put him on edge; that pushed him to beat the redhead at his little mental game.

If Kurama was at all offended, he didn't show it. He just smiled and bopped a finger on Hiei's nose. "Are you a business manager?"

Hiei wriggled his nose as if an offending spider had just been there, and he kept his glare on the stripper. "No, I'm a photographer."

The words came out too late for him to stop them and he mentally kicked himself. He made a mental note to himself; _While in a strip bar with people in back rooms giving lap dances and blow jobs, mentioning that you're a photographer tends to give the job a negative connotation._

"Ah," Kurama teased in an all-knowing voice. "You like _that_ kind of stuff."

Hiei's face finally turned several shades of red and he clenched his fists, sputtering for a reply. "What kind of _stuff_!" he spat out, though his voice wasn't nearly as strong as he had wanted it to be. "That's not what I meant! I'm a journalistic photographer!"

Kurama smirked, placing a soft hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "It's okay, I knew what you meant," he laughed out, removing his hand while ignoring the returned gesture of a glare. He grabbed the tray and turned back to Hiei with an amused, but not teasing smile. "I'm Kurama, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

Hiei rolled his eyes but Kurama took a beer off the try and handed it to him. "Did you want this now, or would you like me to go put it at your table?"

The photographer gave an almost deadpan glare and was returned with something even he had to call cute on Kurama's features. The redhead was giving him a curious gaze, his brow scrunched ever so slightly and his mouth almost forming a pout.

"...Don't you want it?" he asked with a tilt of his head. His face broke out into that damn smile again. "Or did I piss you off enough that you're leaving altogether?"

Hiei snatched the beer away and set it down on the bar. "I don't want a beer. I want something stronger," he demanded in a challenging voice and Kurama's smile widened.

"Okay then, what?"

"I'm not an alcoholic, genius," Hiei answered in an annoyed voice that didn't seem truly annoyed. "I don't know what drinks a bar serves."

"Well...you don't have to be an alcoholic to walk up to a bar every once in a while," the redhead replied with a light laugh and a cheerful smile. He slowly started naming off drinks and their contents, making sure Hiei understood before moving on to the next.

The fire demon rolled his eyes after the tenth drink. "Forget it, just pick something you think I'll like."

Kurama furled his brow once more in that curious pout. "Something a business manager would like, hmm?"

Hiei closed his eyes, trying not to loose his temper. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "I'm a photographer."

The redhead laughed again, a sound that was slowly growing on the shorter man before him. Kurama turned to the bar and ordered up a drink from one of the bartenders.

Several seconds later, an almost clear, slightly cloudy drink was handed to him. He gave Kurama a raised eyebrow, which was only returned with yet another smile.

"It's a lemon drop," the boy explained, grabbing the tray and starting through the crowd towards a table. Hiei followed as the waiter continued to talk. "I didn't think you were an Umbrella sort of guy, so that knocked off fruit drinks."

Behind him, Hiei furled his brow. "Umbrella guy?" he repeated, shaking his head slightly at the apparent "bar speak."

Kurama didn't hear him, or see his gesture as he made it to another table. Hiei stood behind him and off to the side slightly as he served the four men and two ladies there.

The photographer found himself watching this new redhead closely. His movements were fluid and graceful, and his body swayed with an aura of confidence, but humbleness. The boy was always smiling, his eyes bound in happiness and a constant amusement in the world around him.

Hiei saw the certain quality to this redhead that drew people to him, that flocked others to his confidence and content tranquility. The photographer found himself almost envious of that ability, though he had never much cared for company or crowds.

Kurama tucked the tray against his hip and turned back to Hiei, raising an eyebrow when it took several seconds for the photographer to respond to the movement. His odd, red eyes had been locked on the stripper, and it brought a teasing smirk to the redhead's lips.

"Like what you see, Mr. Manager?" he whispered huskily, though jokingly, in his shorter companion's ear as he passed by. He could hear the photographer growl behind him but Hiei followed nonetheless.

"I wasn't looking," Hiei replied, though he cursed himself vividly for such a stupid answer. "And my name is Hiei."

Kurama smiled as he made it back to the bar and he opened his mouth to respond when his attention was drawn elsewhere. His mouth slowly closed and with it that almost angelic smile faltered as he stepped up to the wood and metal counter. Hiei frowned slightly, noticing as the waiter's movements froze and his gaze was locked to the side.

The photographer followed his emerald stare to a man sitting at the table, his long, thin fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of a wine glass. Long black hair, the shining strands comparable to Kurama's own, slid over his shoulder to pool across his skin and the metal of the table.

Violet eyes as piercing as clouded ice through a summer painting, slowly turned, blinking as they took in the redhead standing beside the bar. Thin, pale-purple lips rose slightly at the corners, forming a smile of malicious delight, unlike the angelic happiness it was aimed at.

It was a smile that made even the sturdy photographer want to look away.

"Kurama?" Hiei turned to look at the stripper, but he was staring at the man. The photographer blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. The redhead was giving a faked look of confidence and content, but it was cracking and splitting compared to the original.

He shook his head slightly, turning to look back at Hiei. His fingers were shaking ever so slightly as they gripped the tray and the photographer could see the uncertainty and hints of dread drifting through his once-happy green eyes.

"Who was that?" Hiei asked, glancing once more to the raven-haired man who had turned back to his drink, though those purple eyes would glance in the redhead's direction ever minute or so.

"No one," Kurama replied, not hastily but certainly without delay. "Just another customer of the bar."

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 3_

End

-o-o-o-

And, chapter three is done.

Hope you enjoyed. Please review.

Oh, and don't panic those of you who don't want Kurama to be a stripper. Just...don't panic yet. Kurama hasn't even specified what he does at the bar, and you haven't seen him taking off any clothes, now have you?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I own them, I own them, Muwahaha- (chokes and dies)

Descendent of DUD (named Milk DUD): I own them, I own th- (lawyers show up) She owned them, she owned them!

**Notes: **I apologize for uploading this story three times, but there were some opperator errors on my part followed by a problem on FF . net for who knows what reason. Thanks for reading!

**-o-o-o-**

_**Content**_

_Chapter 4_

**-o-o-o-**

Hiei tailed Kurama as he left the bar and started back over to the tables he was supposed to be serving. The shorter photographer watched those slender, twisting hips and flowing red hair with narrowed eyes.

"You don't lie very well," he began when Kurama had pulled away from the table he had just set drinks down at. One of the already drunken men had grabbed his ass, calling him a pretty little lady and the redhead had just smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

It had bothered Hiei, but he wasn't sure why.

The waiter turned to look at him, empty tray tucked under one arm and red, silken hair falling over one shoulder. "Lie about what?" he asked innocently, his voice giving off a true demeanor of confusion.

Red eyes narrowed all the same. "Who was that man at the bar? The one staring at you?"

"A lot of men stare at me, Hiei," Kurama replied with a very wide smirk that could almost be qualified as smug. When the glare only intensified, the redhead gave a small sigh. "I didn't lie; he's another customer of the bar. Just one with way too much time on his hands and money in his wallet."

Hiei got the gist of that hint and his eyes widened ever so slightly. "You mean he's _your_ customer."

Kurama glanced over his shoulder at Hiei as they once more headed back to the bar. Those green eyes were scrutinizing the photographer before him, looking for that judgmental tone that had been used. When he found what he was looking for, he turned in potential anger.

"And what does that mean, Hiei?" he asked somewhat bitterly, a snapping edge in his voice warned the photographer to push it no further, but he didn't often listen to his own warning voice, let along Kurama's.

Most of the time he considered it an annoying hindrance.

"It means he gives you money and you let him use you." The bluntness of this statement was only softened by Hiei's last minute aversion of using a much harsher word than he had. But green eyes narrowed in an unforeseen rage all the same.

"You don't know a thing about it," Kurama bit out icily, turned and started walking away. Feeling like he'd suddenly just lost a fight, the photographer followed after, anger of his own rising at the odd feeling of defeat.

"What is there to know?" he asked, his tone somewhat rude and offensive as he followed Kurama back to he bar. The waiter set down the tray with white knuckled hands and asked the bartender to fill it back up with another table's orders. "He gives you money and then fucks you for it."

That obviously struck a cord that time as the redhead spun around, green eyes burning with a rage that didn't seem logical to the photographer. A job was a job; however gruesome it was but bread had to be put on the table.

If you got that mad about someone mentioning your job than you needed a new one.

"You don't know a fucking thing about me, _photographer_, so back the hell off," he growled out lowly, surprising the shorter man. He hadn't thought- it hadn't even occurred to him- that such a gentle beauty could hold such venomous anger.

He had just met the finest rose with the sharpest thorns.

The bartender looked over, genuine concern floated through his bright blue eyes and he put a glass filled with a red liquid down on the tray. "Ya alrigh', K'rama?" he asked, revealing a very Irish accent to his speech. "This guy botherin' ya?"

The green-eyed waiter turned with a wide smile back to the bartender, but it was a little weaker at the corners then it had been minutes ago, instigating the presence of a mask. "No, Jin, everything's alright. I walked into that one; my fault. Can I get one more beer for table four?"

The redheaded bartender, whose red locks were a very vivid definition of the color, unlike the dark, blood-colored tresses of Kurama, nodded and grabbed a mug, filling it up to the top with the tan liquid. He handed the foaming tankard to Kurama, who set it down on the tray and started to pick it up.

Before he could finish, however, a bubbly girl popped up behind him, her blue hair bouncing up and down in the high ponytail it was pulled back in. Two long strands curled around her neck as they fell in front of her ears, extending from her bangs. Her outfit was a pair of overalls cut off to become relatively revealing shorts. She wore a tube top bra underneath, covering only the necessities (which of course, had to be paid for in a place like this) and her bright blue and white sneakers matched her bouncing personality.

"Hello, Kurama!" she spoke merrily as the redhead turned around to greet her bubbling presence. Bright pink eyes smiled happily back as she all but rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. She held up one finger as if to point out something important in her next words, "Karasu sent me to tell you that he's waiting in the normal room."

The smile on Kurama's face faltered slightly before he brought it back with a tad more strain upon his features. "He can wait a little longer, then," the redhead replied with both a sense of mischief as well as a sense of dread.

None of this went unnoticed by the watching photographer, whose job was to capture what wasn't easy to be seen.

"Be careful with tha' guy, K'rama," Jin suddenly put in, his accent twisting his words slightly to make them seem more amused then worried, but the concern on his face was evident. "I don' like 'im."

The waiter smiled and picked up the tray. "Neither do I, Jin. But I'll be fine, don't worry. And thanks, Botan, for the update."

With that he took the tray and walked away, winding his way through the crowd of people mulling to get more drinks, talking to one another, or dancing like no one was watching (or like they were drunk, which was probably the case more often than not.)

"Well, I'm off!" Botan said merrily as she all but skipped away, that overall outfit rather…revealing as she bounced up and down. Hiei shook his head, deciding that he never wanted to see so much skin ever again.

"I worry bou' tha' lad." The suddenly declared statement made the photographer turn to look at those wide, blue eyes that stared after the disappearing redhead. The bartender just slowly shook his head and began drying some of the glasses that were lined up, soaking wet, along the back of the bar.

It was odd to see him without a smile on his face. Hiei didn't even know the bartender at all, but something told him that this "Jin" should never be the type who's face lacks a smile.

"What do you mean by that?" Hiei questioned, though it almost came out as a growled reply. The redhead glanced up in a somewhat surprised manner, as if not realizing he'd said that aloud.

Blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Yo'r the one harrasin' K'rama," he stated in a slightly accusing tone but after another moment of staring at the unblinking crimson gaze of the photographer he shrugged. "Tha' lad shouldn' have ta' deal with this life, tha's wha' I mean'."

And with that he put down the glass and towel and walked off, purposefully ending the conversation by going to get a younger woman in a fancy dress a rather expensive shot of vodka. Hiei stared after him for a moment, blinking before he turned back to look in the direction the waiter had gone.

But Kurama was no longer in sight.

-o-o-o-

The black doors to the back rooms were unendingly intimidating for the young man and they only ever seemed to get more so, rather then lesson with time and usage.

Kurama made his way slowly towards the third door, the "normal room" for him to go to this time of night. He had taken as long as possible, double checking almost every table that he served that night to make sure no one needed anything else from him while he was there.

Sighing slightly, he put an extra sway in his rather feminine hips as his hand laid gently on the silver doorknob. With one last mental check that everything was in place and that he could do this for yet another night's pay, he turned the handle and entered the dimly lit room.

There was a large sofa in the center of the room, a squishy one person chair that was surrounded by rather cheap furniture, but in the dim light it wasn't noticeable. The room was lit by several candles on said furniture and by a mirror that hung on the wall in front of the chair, reflecting the bouncing firelight.

Sitting in that chair, legs crossed in the exact same position as every other night, was the violet-eyed, dark haired stranger from the bar. His long, black tresses fell over his shoulder, splitting the strands like water falling from rocks far above. His cold, purple eyes regarded Kurama with a longing that seemed impossible to sate.

Karasu rose from the chair as the redhead entered the room slowly, closing the door hesitantly behind him but never once turning his back to that raven figure in the middle of the room.

"You're late," that sultry voice purred against his ears as the figure made his way over to him with light, eerie footsteps that made no echo of a sound on the wooden floor. Kurama felt a shiver wriggle its way through his body at that deeply masked sound.

A hand was pressed against the back of the door, beside his head, Karasu's arm stretched over his shoulder as he leaned against that hand for support, dipping his head to draw within centimeters of Kurama. The redhead dipped his head ever so slightly, almost submissively; anything to keep from those lips getting any closer to his.

"Sorry," he whispered, too afraid to raise his voice any louder for fear of it breaking his own body, suddenly made of glass and crystal. The raven-haired customer simply shrugged, his hair sliding down his shoulder.

"It only entices me further, my little Kurama," he gently tilted the redhead's chin up so they were once more locked in eye level, Karasu stooped very so slightly as he bent against the door.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me," the waiter gave reply, not pulling away for no where else to go. Karasu gave a soft chuckle and released his chin, pushing himself off the door and wandering slowly back to the chair, a sway in his own hips that Kurama wished to never see again but never failed to notice.

With an inward sigh he followed the man back to the chair and stood before him, his hands loosely held at his side. Karasu seated himself on the thick chair, crossing his legs once more and folding his hands atop his lap.

"Well?" he asked, watching the redhead expectantly. Slowly, Kurama began his normal routine of slowly moving his body before the raven-haired crow, closing his eyes from the truth of what he was doing.

As he always began, he whispered softly, "If you touch me you pay double, Karasu."

And, as always, the so-called customer and his greatest nightmare replied, "I already paid double. And another hundred, Kurama." Purple eyes were watching every fluid movement of the boy with a longing lust as the redhead simply danced slowly before him, enticing but allowing him nothing. "Your boss guaranteed no problems with that."

Kurama's eyelids fluttered at the news, but he knew that Yomi could do nothing more against the damn business man in the chair before him. He paid almost three times as much as any other customer and he still didn't get what he wanted.

His boss had already done everything possible to keep Karasu from getting any closer to the dancing redhead, but even Kurama had to admit that Yomi was caught in a corner.

So when deft fingers ran down his thigh he closed his eyes a little tighter and imagined it wasn't who it was; imagined it was the one he loved; the only one who'd touched him before all this happened.

The only one he couldn't see when he danced before Karasu every week.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 4_

End

-o-o-o-

Okay, that was fun.

Alright, before you all panic _again_, I still haven't said anything about him being a hooker or a stripper. He _still_ hasn't taken any clothes off and hasn't actually admitted to anything despite Hiei's…less than polite comments.

See, right now he only does lap dances, and normally customers can't touch him. However, Karasu is paying about three times more than the average man pays just to get screwed.

So don't panic yet, okay?

Um…no author notes?

Oh, wait, I lied.

**Author's Notes**:

…_The only one he couldn't see when he danced before Karasu…_ Haha, think it's Hiei? It's not. Bet some of you can guess, though.

Oh, oh, and the Last One Left really helped me here with Jin's accent. So did Cold Rescue. I'm getting better at this accent thing!

Ah, and yes, Yomi owns the bar. (evil smile)

Please review if you would all be so kind. It takes you one minute and means a lot to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **-pout- Why am I still doing this? Wait…didn't I die in the disclaimer of the last chapter?! Why am I even still here?!

**Note**: None that I know of.

Oh, wait, I lied.

-ahem- This chapter is for **KyoHana**, who asked for it.

-o-o-o-

_**Content**_

Chapter 5

-o-o-o-

Sun filtered into the dim, musty room, lighting the piles of junk collected but with no place to go. The small, crowded space had a mattress lying on the ground and a single rickety desk, old and worn from extensive use. Currently, it was buried below layers of clothes, pictures, little slips of papers with phone numbers and addresses, markers and pens, costume jewelry, and bits of odds and ends.

The floor was similarly covered with piles and spreads, an ocean of organized junk with portions of pathway leading from the rickety door to the sloppy bed. A sheet and a comforter, several years in age at least, were thrown carelessly on the low mattress with pillows strewn about.

Amid the mess of blanket and fluff were visible body parts; a leg strewn here, an arm flung there. Messy red hair was peaking out from beneath one white pillow and it shifted with a moan as the light penetrated his dark sanctuary.

A long-fingered, feminine hand reached out, shifting the weight to one hand and sliding the cat like posture into a slight arching stretch. Deft fingers wrapped around the cord of the shade and pulled it down, the manila fabric unrolling with a _click click click_ to cover the pane and divert some light.

The soft sigh of relief that passed from paled lips echoed through the room followed by the fluffy thud of collapsing back atop the mattress and pillows. The body was quickly burrowed beneath the safety and warmth of the bed sheets once more.

-o-o-o-

"I can't get him out of my mind!"

Hiei growled at the thought: just that thought. That single thought that wouldn't leave him alone that entire day.

And that day…oh, that day was not something he wanted to think about, either. Everything was going wrong: the camera was out of focus, he ran out of film, it rained the entire morning, Koenma was on his ass for not supplying the pictures he promised, and Kuwabara picked that day of all days to ask once more if he'd accept an engagement proposition towards Yukina.

And all this was the fault of that god damned stripper!

He wasn't sure how, but it certainly was!

Well, he'd gotten yelled at for calling the redhead a stripper the previous night. In fact, that curiosity had been in the back of his head as well. Why would the stripper be insulted by calling him what he was? If he was so ashamed of his job, he shouldn't be doing it.

But when he was serving those drinks, before that raven-haired menace took him in the back, the redhead had looked happy, enjoying his career choice.

So it wasn't that he didn't enjoy his job or that he was insulted by the title. Perhaps, instead, Hiei had said it condescendingly. Although he didn't remember doing so, it wouldn't surprise the photographer if he had.

Apparently, by the "world" he was often considered "rude."

Pft, like he cared.

Shaking his head, he growled and raised his camera, not that there was anything to photograph. Huddled beneath an overhang, the dark-haired man stared at the empty, soaked playground bombarded by the tears of the skies.

Hiei hated rain, he always had. Something about it angered him greatly, as if it was an attack to him: each raindrop a murderous threat. He couldn't stand the element, so he supposed it was fitting that it could ruin a day of his job as well.

And somehow, to his utter disgust and annoyance, just the word "job" in his train of thoughts brought Kurama back to his mind.

"God damn it!" Hiei suddenly shouted, slamming a fist into the wall of the small restroom in the park, empty from the weather. "Get out of my head!"

But the image couldn't leave and the photographer was banging his head against the wall in exasperation by the time his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked in the most deadpan voice he could summon as he pressed the cold metal to his ear. His head picked up immediately, pushing his forehead off the wall. "What? A photo shoot? Yusuke, what the hell are you talking abo- The bar?"

There was an audible sigh as he allowed Yusuke to laugh on his lame "photo-shoot" joke. He wanted shots of the life of a stripper for an article. And since Yusuke had delusions of half-dressed girls, he had delusions of a photo shoot.

Asshole didn't even know what a photo shoot was.

Sighing, Hiei began packing up his camera, careful with the equipment that was his life. He soon set out into the rain, crossing over the wet bark of the playground, glaring at the droplets that dared to touch him.

A stupid asshole, that was what Yusuke was. A nuisances and an annoyance.

A growl escaped his throat as he started down the street, keeping an eye out for a taxi.

-o-o-o-

"Kuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrroooooooooooooo!!"

Kurama had plenty of warning but no time to wake up to it before a weight was suddenly thrown onto him, pushing his stomach in and his body up with a groan.

"Kuro! Kuro! Up! Up!" A young but loud voice cried out, tinted with a pout of childish age. "Yo-sama says up!"

Tired, squinting green eyes managed to crack open and take in the intruder of his sleep. It was a young girl, no more than five or six (five years, seven months, and fourteen days as she would remind him again today.) Long, dark brown curls fell from the crown of her head to the rosy cheeks of her chubby face. Normally curious pink eyes that reminded Kurama of the setting sun were hidden under the furled brow of a pout.

"Up!" she repeated, her voice thick with the tones of one still learning the spoken language. To accent her point, she began bouncing up and down from her position on his stomach, invoking a groan that sounded closer to throwing up.

"Okay, Okay," Kurama muttered, holding up his hands in surrender. "Kuro's up."

There was a slight pause after his words in which the two just stared at one another, each expecting the other's movements before Kurama gave a sudden, but playful roar and sat up. The young girl fell back with a squeal as she was swept into a bear hug, her "Kuro" gnashing his teeth near her.

"No!" she squealed as she laughed, trying to wiggle away. "Don't eat me! Bad Kuro! Bad!"

Kurama whimpered obediently and nuzzled his forehead against her shoulder, giving off a soft purring sound, like a pet. The girl just giggled and shrugged her shoulder up to block the little daily routine the two had.

"Okay, Rakura, I think Kurama's up now," a bubbly voice said from the doorway and both occupants turned to the blue haired, smiling Botan. She was clad in a dark blue sports bra and yellow suspended shorts. Her paler blue hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bounced on her head.

"Mommy!" Rukura squealed and scrambled off Kurama, eliciting another groan from the kick in the stomach he got as she pushed off him. Botan smiled at Kurama even as her daughter tackled her leg.

"Morning, 'Kuro,'" she greeted, teasing him with the childish nickname. Kurama blushed lightly and opened his mouth to reply, but Rukura did it for him.

"Only I get to call him 'Kuro,' mommy!" she argued, crossing her arms and glaring at her mother. "He's my Kuro-chan!"

"Ooooh," Botan replied with a teasing tone once more at the lovey-dovey name. She bent down to smile at her daughter, tucking her curls behind her ear. "So he's your boyfriend, Ruku-chan?"

The little girl nodded excessively, sticking out her bottom lip and Kurama was forced to blush and sweep the little girl up, swinging her around to avoid any over-dramatic tears caused by her disbelieving mother.

"That's right," he agreed soothingly with a kiss to her cheek. "I'm your boyfriend, my beautiful little Ruku-chan."

The child squealed and giggled, wriggling from those arms and running out the door to wake the other live-ins at the bar. Kurama just smiled and stood, running a hand through his bed-styled hair and massaging his bruised stomach. That child could kick hard.

"She really adores you," Botan started, leaning against the door frame, giving Kurama a warm expression. "I don't know what she would do without you."

"Well, she's a good kid," the redhead replied as he started looking around the mess of a room for his clothes. A yawn broke his search for a moment and he recalled how early it was in relation to his normal waking time. "So why'd you send the devil-angel to wake me up?"

"Oh, we have a journalist coming," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Journalist? The same one from before?" Kurama, shirt in hand, scrunched his face slightly. "Y…Yusuke? Was that his name?"

"Yeah, Yusuke Urameshi," Botan continued as she pushed off the wall and walked into the room, white and blue sneakers expertly avoiding stepping on any belongings. Her pink eyes began scanning the ocean of stuff. "He's doing some follow up on the bar with the life of a stripper."

Kurama frowned, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I love that he's so interested, but he makes us sound like foreign specimens to be studied."

"Well, to a lot of this country, we are," his blue-haired friend retorted, bending down and picking out a black shirt, handing it to him. "Wear that, he's bringing a photographer with him."

Kurama blinked as he took the article of clothing from her. "And this has what to do with the wardrobe you're picking?"

"Yomi-sama wants you to look good, as we all voted on you being the 'stripper' in question!" she proclaimed, holding up one finger as if exclaiming the killer in a murder mystery.

Kurama dropped this shirt, as well as his jaw.

"What?" he cried out, bending down to swipe the shirt back. "Uh-uh, I'm not going to bare my life out for some stranger for all of Japan to read!"

Botan suddenly pushed out her lips, forming an identical look to her daughter's. "Oh come on, _Kuro-chan_! You're the best of all of us, even Yomi-sama agrees!"

Kurama growled lowly in the back of his throat. "That look isn't going to work. Only Rukura's puppy eyes affect me."

The pout only increased.

"Argh!" he cried out, turning away from Botan and her "chibi wobbly eyes of doom" as he pulled on his shirt. The black woven cloth clung to him and cut outs in the fabric revealed his upper arms, his abs, and his lower back. "I'm not even a stripper!"

"Please?" Botan begged again, putting her hands together in a clasped manner. It doesn't matter that you don't actually strip! You work here and you do lap dances. That's close enough! Besides, you'll attract a lot of attention and that means customers and that means money and an easier time for the rest of us!"

Kurama sighed tiredly as she managed to hand him a pair of pants while maintaining the begging posture and look. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, hoping to alleviate a headache. "Botan…I would have to lie about…almost everything!"

"So? It's meant to entertain a bunch of readers! They don't need the truth, just a heart- felt story!" Botan replied excitedly. "Please, Kurama?"

The redhead sighed and pulled on the pants over his boxers. "Alright okay?"

Botan squealed as she hugged her dressing friend, nearly knocking him over on his half pulled-up pants.

-o-o-o-

Hiei was less than happy to have to reenter the strip club just a few hours after the fiasco from last night.

The night before, he watched that door that Kurama had entered until Karasu, the raven-haired stranger that screamed threat, come out, a mixture of satisfaction but also lustful desire written all over his face.

Hiei glared harshly as he passed and left the bar, but he paid no notice to the shorter photographer. A few minutes later, Kurama stepped out of the room, looking mostly as he had prior to entering, but there was something off about him.

From that distance, Hiei couldn't tell that it was the sorrow in his eyes.

And he had left immediately after, not truly understanding why he'd stayed that long. It's not like he cared about the damn stripper.

Pushing the door open, he entered the small bouncer room, but no seven foot giant was there this time. Pushing the strap of his camera bag further up on his shoulder, he pushed open the second set of doors.

There was no loud blaring music or flashing strobe lights now, leaving it a rather dim lit bar. A few people walked about, most restocking the liquor or cleaning the tables and floors. Yusuke was standing beside a table, talking to the seated man there.

He was tall and well built, not lanky or thin. He wore a white work shirt open slightly to reveal an undershirt that still gave a professional look. Nice gray slacks adorned his lower half, giving him a slightly more formal appeal.

Long, straight black hair fell to his back, neat and brushed, obviously showing pride in his appearance. His eyes were not visible, covered by a pair of sunglasses at which Hiei frowned. Since it was a bit too dark for sunglasses, the photographer found the immediate conclusion rather odd: the man was blind.

Yusuke looked up at the light thud of the closing door. "Oi, Hiei!" he called "This is Yomi-san. He runs the bar."

Yomi turned to Hiei and the photographer frowned at the way this bar owner seemed to look him right in the eye. Hiei had not yet spoken, and he was known for his quiet movements.

"Are you blind?" he asked bluntly and without the courtesy or sympathy one would normally give in asking such a question. In short; rude.

Even Yusuke found this question harsh and he began to retort angrily at his comrade. However, a deep but soft voice took the place of his own. "That is alright, Urameshi-san," Yomi spoke easily, those sunglass-covered eyes staring at Hiei. "Yes, I am blind, but I have learned to hear what I cannot see."

This was acceptable in the least, and Hiei let the subject drop, setting his camera bag down on the table gently. "So, what are we doing here, then?"

Yusuke took the opportunity and invitation to jump right into explanation of his idea for the article. He wanted to take a view for the story, not the bar this time, but those that worked in it. He wanted to get the inside scoop: the troubles; the joys.

He wanted to show the world that a stripper was a normal person with an exotic job.

Hiei listened half-heartedly, letting his eyes occasionally wander around the bar and take in those that walked about the club. He didn't know what he was looking for, mostly because he was too weary to figure it out.

Because, in all honest likelihood, he was searching for Kurama.

"And so, anyways, I was hoping to interview a variety of people, but definitely focus on one," Yusuke concluded sketchily, leaning back in the chair he had taken during his "speech."

Yomi gave a nod, once more seeming to look Yusuke in the eye "Yes," he agreed, folding his hands all business like. "We figured that would be the arrangement and the employees chose one particular dancer for your spotlight. If you like him for the job, I'm sure he'd be glad to give you an interview."

Hiei found it curious that this man did not refer to his strippers as such, which recalled Kurama's heated response the prior night. Yomi called them "employees" and "dancers", and his voice held a loving respect as he spoke of them. It reminded the photographer of how a parent might speak to their child or a close sibling.

The journalist beside him opened his mouth to agree or disagree, though it would remain unknown, as the light _thunk thunk thunk_ of boots on steps turned their eyes to the stairwell that disappeared upstairs, normally roped off during business hours.

"Ah, here they come now," Yomi spoke even as two figures emerged, both of which Yusuke and Hiei recognized. The first was Botan, interviewed by Yusuke for his first story and seen by Hiei the night before.

The photographer remembered her as a far too bubbly, cheerful person that made his head hurt.

The latter, of course, was Kurama, wearing black pants cut at the thigh and connected to the bottom of the slacks by strips of fabric, much like the cut outs in his similarly colored shirt. His red hair was loose about his shoulders, cascading to his mid back.

The minute they spotted each other, their eyes grew dull and when they spoke, they did so as one.

"Oh great, it's you."

Yusuke, eyes a little wider, looked back and forth between the two before he burst into laughter.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 5_

End

-o-o-o-

Ta-doooooone!

Well, with a chapter. Anyways, this is for **KyoHana**, who asked me to update this story out of all the others.

Hope you enjoyed!

Oh, for **Nyte Kit**: I edited and proofed it on my day off…but I think I zoned out a few times. I must have read the same sentence thirteen times. So, I hope it was tolerable.

Thanks!

Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: Do you think Lawyers would qualify "I'm too lazy to post a disclaimer" as a reasonable excuse?

**Notes**: Does anyone even read these things or am I just pointlessly wasting energy and the lifespan of my fingers?!

-ahem-

Okay, this is another chapter for **KyoHana**, who asked so politely (you demanded and you know it!) for it. 8D

-o-o-o-

**_Content_**

_Chapter 6_

-o-o-o-

"Where were you born?"

"Kyoto, Japan."

"And what were your parents' names?"

"…I'd rather not have that printed."

"Alright, that's cool. No problem there. Is Kurama your real name?"

"No, it's a nickname a…friend gave me a long time ago. The bar picked it up and used it as my stage name."

"Good. Alright, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four."

_Bullshit._ Hiei was watching his journalistic friend interview the redheaded stripper. The two sat at a table in the dimly lit club, left to their business with a free supply of drinks when they wanted.

The photographer was leaning against a nearby wall, watching the interview and speculating just how much of this was true. His eyes never left the stripper but to gage Yusuke's reactions and thoughts to the information he received.

He wasn't sure why he had even come here. Photographs wouldn't be needed until after the interview, so he could have stayed out for another hour or so. Of course, the obvious answer was simple: he wanted to get out of the rain.

Hiei easily pushed back the little voice that told him he came here early to see that stripper. That god damned, stupid, intoxicating stripper.

"And how long have you been working here?"

"Um…About four years."

Hiei blinked. That hadn't been a lie. There was no evidence in Kurama's body language or tones to say he was lying. But he knew- he just _knew_- that Kurama wasn't twenty four. There was no way in fuc- well, okay, there was no way in just plain old hell that the boy was more than nineteen. And even that was truly pushing it.

If the spiky haired man had to guess, he would have said seventeen, maybe eighteen. And if he had been working here for four years…

Hiei shuddered at the thought and looked away.

What kind of person would subject themselves to that?

…A person that had no other choice.

Hiei shuddered again and opted not to think about it. He didn't want to think about – therefore he wouldn't think about it. It was as simple as that.

"Why'd you choose to be a stripper?"

There was a long pause between this question, and Hiei could see by Kurama's fidgeting that it made him extremely nervous. He remembered the fiery redhead basically telling him that he didn't like being called a stripper, but the photographer couldn't tell if it was the word or the actual question that had Kurama so uncomfortable.

Maybe it was both.

"Well…one doesn't exactly plan to do this for a living. I- it's a life style that was available when I didn't have any other options open to me."

A rather good answer to a rather tough question. Hiei found himself respecting that sort of reply. It wasn't a lie – it was rather honest, perhaps more than he had been expecting, but it still touched up on the fact that he hadn't wanted this future for himself.

"How does your family feel about your career?"

Another long silence passed in that one.

"…You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable, Kurama."

"No, it's okay, thank you though. Honestly? My family doesn't know. I don't think I'd want them to know. I haven't seen them in many years, so I'm not even sure where they are right now."

Yusuke nodded in understanding. The tape recorder resting on the tabletop collected all of this for a permanent record, but he still wrote notes in shorthand on his pad of paper and notebook. Kurama was watching his hand move somewhat disconcertedly.

"What are some of the unfavorable parts of your job?"

Kurama blinked as he contemplated the question and then slowly turned to look at Yomi, who was watching them from across the room. He then looked back to Yusuke and blinked again.

"Do I have to answer that?"

-o-o-o-

"Will you stop moving?"

Kurama gave an aggravated sigh as he stopped fidgeting and looked up, straight into the camera's lens. Hiei closed his eyes in irritation and looked away from the viewfinder. In annoyance, he moved away from the camera and over to the stripper, tilting his chin up manually this time.

"If you stopped moving, we could be done with this quicker."

"And if you asked nicely, we could be done with this easier."

It took everything Hiei had not to growl at the stripper as he repositioned the redhead to face the camera. "Look, it's only one picture. The rest are action shots. So just cooperate and pose for this one shot, alright?"

Kurama said nothing, staring into the camera as he had been positioned to do so. Hiei took it as compliance, however reluctant, and moved back behind the lens. Several snaps and clicks later, he pulled away.

"Alright, we're done."

Kurama relaxed, hating having to sit up straight and proper like he was some sort of doll to be moved around into the perfect, prissy position. He quickly stood up, rubbing his arms as if to check they were flesh and not porcelain. With a relaxed sigh, he flipped his hair over his shoulder and turned back towards the booth.

"Wait, we're just done with that one shot!" Hiei growled out but Kurama looked back at him over his shoulder.

"If you're going to photograph me – especially for free- you'd better learn to ask me nicely not demand it from me." And with that he headed back towards the booth.

So, obviously, Hiei had made a very poor impression on the stripper the night before. Not that he cared what Kurama thought of him (of course he didn't care – he didn't care what anybody thought of him, let alone Kurama!) but it would make his job so much easier if the redhead would just cooperate.

"Alright," Hiei finally sighed, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. "Fine, I'm sorry about what I said last night, now will you just do what I tell you to?"

Kurama glanced back at him for a second before smirking. "I don't know, in my profession that could really be asking a lot."

Hiei blushed bright red and sputtered for a few minutes as Kurama took the few steps back over to him.

"Your apology is accepted. Thank you for giving it. Now, just be nice when you order me around; I don't like cameras," the redhead said softly, looking down at the shorter man. Hiei observed those green eyes for a moment before he nodded.

"Alright. I don't know fully what kind of shots Yusuke wants, so until he's done with the other interviews, I'll just shoot you doing what…you normally do." His words were a last minute change from "_what you do best_" but he decided the ego boost might be too much – not to mention the admission of such a comment might be mistaken for an actual interest in the redhead.

And he definitely had no interest in the redhead.

Kurama nodded, but didn't move, still slightly fidgeting. He wasn't confident like he was the night before, and it was very obvious in his slightly jerky movements and jumpiness. Hiei watched him for a moment, wondering if he was going to do anything that even remotely qualified as what was "normally" done before he gave a soft sigh.

"You really get nervous in front of cameras, don't you?" he asked in a gruff voice, though it lacked any anger. The redhead had asked him to be more polite and, while he felt no need to be nice, he found it inexplicably difficult to refuse his request and return to his normal, mean attitude.

Kurama fidgeted, holding his right arm with his left. "I don't like people watching me." Hiei raised an eyebrow and the redhead gave a light laugh. "I know, an odd thing to say with my profession but…it's different when I'm dancing…Even when it's someone who wants to see me, I can pretend that no one's watching as long as I'm dancing."

Both of them blushed slightly at this, Hiei because he was fighting his subconscious voice that screamed he wanted to see the redhead, and Kurama for having said something as such aloud.

"Sorry, I'm rambling. Um…so…what do you want me to do?" he asked, rubbing his arm slightly and Hiei noted the movement, filing it under a sign of nervousness attributed to the stripper.

"Alright then," Hiei began as he detached the camera from the tripod and hung it around his neck. "Why don't you dance then? Pretend that no one is watching."

Kurama blinked for a moment, as if to ask "is it really that simple?" but only nodded instead and walked over to the center stage that the club had built for their prize strippers, mostly the females. He climbed up onto it, grabbing one of the poles to do so.

Hiei followed, watching his flowing movements carefully. He watched as the redhead putted about for a moment before slowly beginning to move, closing his eyes to keep himself from seeing the camera and shutting his ears to its clicking.

His movements were slow and tantalizing, beckoning for its audience to follow, move closer, and then slowly teasing away or grasping out with fangs of danger. Each move was a deliberate and well controlled movement of fluid movement with no thought behind it. A contradicting dance of skin and flesh, taunting what could be seen and promising what couldn't.

Hiei soon found himself watching the stripper more than taking pictures of him as he slowly danced upon the stage, changing the rhythm when there was no music to change it to.

Kurama's red hair fell over his shoulders and swept along his bare back as he moved, eyes closed and bottom lip gently held between his teeth, a picture of innocence in a non-innocent act. Hiei could just picture what those fiery green eyes would look like if they were open, staring at him- at only him.

Something somewhere told him to stop thinking such thoughts, but he pushed it away. He could think like that when this sensual creature was not dancing before him, enticing his mind away from logic, from reason, from anything but desire.

This was a siren. Kurama was the perfect creature because, in the midst of everything, all Hiei could think about was wanting him.

And oh, how he wanted him.

Hiei managed to snap two or three more pictures in the course of four or five minutes, but only wound up with twelve by the time Kurama finished. And when the redhead slowly opened his eyes, ending his last movements, he looked around for a moment and then focused on Hiei, who was staring intensely into his vermillion eyes.

The stripper blushed and quickly clambered off the stage.

"U-uh…w-was that what you needed?" he asked, once more fidgeting with his arm, the obvious position of comfort when he was anything but that. Hiei snapped himself out of his haze of desire and nodded, lowering the camera back to hang on his neck.

"Yeah, that'll do for now. I'll- uh- I'll get Yusuke to tell me what else he needs," the photographer said, strengthening his slightly weakened voice. "We'll probably need shots of you with some of the others, and maybe where you live. Something like that."

Kurama just nodded and the two stood in silence, in the middle of a practically empty strip club, just staring at anything but each other with nothing to say.

Hiei was desperately avoiding looking at the redhead, especially after the personal performance he had just received, but his stomach was twisting and jumping in butterflies at the stripper's talent and his mind screamed that he yearned for more of it. But he was prideful, and strong, and a man, and not gay, and would never, never, never ask for such a thing.

Kurama finally glanced at him. "So…are you going to ask for a date or would you just like me to just kiss you and skip the verbal?"

Hiei blushed bright red at this but managed to meet the green eyes with a harder stare. "What makes you think I'd want a date? I'm just here to take pictures."

The redhead gave a small smile, growing a bit more comfortable than he had been. "It's up to you, Hiei. I didn't say you had to. Just come to the club tonight…if you want to, of course."

And with that he turned and started back in the direction of the stairs, not looking back at the crimson eyes that followed him the entire way.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 6_

End

-o-o-o-

Yay! Another chapter completed!

I liked writing this one so much that I'm going to move straight to the next one.

Hope you guys enjoyed, and please Review if you would.

I'm too lazy to post Author notes, so any questions should be put into a review or e-mail. Thanks a ton!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I don't think I need to say it seven times in a row (do I?)

Lawyers: -nod-

-sigh- I don't own them. I don't own any of them. TT

**Notes**: Still don't think anybody reads these!

T.T Okay…so now that I'm aware that I am **color blind** as well as **color writing deficient**, I am now also aware that writing "Vermillion" when you mean "Viridian" does not work so well. So, all you readers out there _knew_ I meant green when I wrote red but…hey…opposite ends of the color wheel, you all figured it out, right?

All the while laughing at me too, I'm sure.

8-)

Thanks Kyo for the point-out. My mistake guys, I fixed this chapter (because I'd already made that mistake twice, it seems) and Kurama's eyes are now (thankfully) back to their pretty green.

So sorry.

**Story Note**: I'm not very good at going back through previous chapters and changing content. I have a sort of belief (that changes often) that evolves around not changing what I've written once I've posted it.

I made the mistake and I'll live with it. That way, in five years when I come back to my older stories, I can see how much I've improved and know that it was how I wrote back then, instead of how I wrote with minor changes for five years running.

I like my originals, faults and all. (Major issues that interrupt a story line or make it hard for you guys to read, however, will be changed.)

-o-o-o-

_**Content **_

_Chapter 7_

-o-o-o-

Hiei could not believe what he was doing as he stared up at the neon sign above the door that read _Tsunami_ _Bar and Club _in bright teal letters. He truly could not believe he was back at that damn bar because that damn stripper had to go and damn invite him back.

God damned tantalizing stripper.

He growled as he headed back in, glaring up at _Giant_, who greeted him with a smirk. As he opened the door to the bar and therefore the blaring noise (as one could not call it music) and flashing lights, he gave a large, almost evil grin to the photographer, as a fox does to its prey.

"Kurama said you'd be coming tonight. Take the table you were at last night," _Giant_ said as he held the door open. Hiei sent him a nasty glare but crossed the threshold into the crowded club. Annoyed twice as much as when he had realized he'd actually returned, he made his way over to the table, asking himself multiple times why he was doing what Kurama wanted.

He should be sitting wherever he wanted, not where that damn redhead told him to.

But, despite all that, he found himself sitting down at the same table, in the same booth, that he had the night before, now absent of his two frien- colleagues. He glanced around the club, which was now back to its normal night life, with people dancing shamelessly, the waiters and waitresses dressed as shamelessly as their customers danced, and the strippers doing god-knows-what up there on that stage…that very stage Kurama had danced on not ten hours ago.

Hiei took his eyes off of that stage.

"What can I get you, Mr. Manager?" a voice suddenly whispered huskily in his ear and he spun at the sudden invasion of space, not to mention the shiver that ran down his spin at that hot breath against his skin.

Kurama leaned back, laughing as he avoided an elbow in the face, a reaction from the somewhat jumpy photographer. Hiei went to retort, torn between yelling at him for getting so close or for getting his profession wrong _yet again_, but his voice died on his lips as his eyes decided they'd rather roam over the strippers new outfit.

The boy was wearing a tight vest that laced down the center, almost in a corset like manner, framing his chest and ribs in a perfect shape, but stopping before his hips, once more. Like the night before, his feminine curves were shown off, leading into thin hips that were visible above the low cut pants.

Well, pants wasn't really the right word. No, pants wasn't even close to the right word. Pants didn't even fit as a synonym.

Kurama was wearing a full length black skirt that extended to the tips of his high healed boots (which successfully showed off his thin, smooth calves). And it wasn't just any plain old skirt; that wouldn't be nearly teasing enough for the poor photographer. Rather, this long, silky garment was slit up both sides, all the way to the very top of the waistband, leaving only half an inch at the top, all that was holding the two split halves together.

It revealed all of his outer thigh up to his hips with taunting hints at his inner thighs, showing that he was _in fact_, not wearing underwear, which was something no piece of clothing should ever reveal, according to Hiei.

But damn did he look good in it.

Kurama was smiling widely by the time Hiei managed to tear his eyes away from all that skin that was just barely showing through, taunting him with its inaccessibility, despite Kurama being mere inches away from him.

"I see you decided to come, Hiei, and without a camera, so you mustn't be here on business!" the redhead exclaimed happily, a tray tucked under one arm, just as it had been the night before. His smile turned a little less smug and excited, into a genuine smile that Hiei found himself unable to look away from. "I'm glad you came."

There was a long silence in which the photographer had to teach himself how to breathe and then swallow properly before he could reply. "I just came here so you wouldn't be disappointed."

It was, perhaps, the lamest excuse he had ever come up with but the waiter would just have to give him a break. It was something in the air- it had to be because no matter how hard he tried, he felt almost sick and giddy around Kurama all at the same time.

And he'd only known him for a few hours total.

The redhead smiled as he slid onto the booth, forcing Hiei to scoot over so as not to invade his personal space or make it look like they were actually sitting _together_. Because, of course, they weren't.

Kurama just smiled and leaned closer to him, countered by Hiei's leaning back until his head hit the cushion of the booth and allowed him to retreat no further. Kurama's face was mere inches from him, and Hiei glanced down at those soft, pink lips that were so very close to his. "Thank you for not disappointing me."

With a smile that Hiei thought was far too smug, he finally pulled away and stood back up. "Would you like another Lemon Drop, Mr. Manager?"

"My name is Hiei," he growled in his defense, trying to reinforce the idea into Kurama's head that he was not a business manager. The redhead only smiled teasingly, shifting ever so slightly so that pale, milky legs became visible once more and Hiei had to use every muscle in his body to avoid looking to them.

"Well then, _Hiei_, would you-"

"What else is there?"

Kurama smiled and reached over the table, purposefully close to Hiei, and pulled the drink menu over to him. Their skin brushed as he did so, sending an involuntary shudder through Hiei's body, which he promptly ignored. "This is the list of all the drinks Jin makes. Let me know when you've decided on something."

With a wink and a final smile, he made his way back across the club, hips swaying in a beckoning manner, knowing that Hiei's eyes were watching him the entire way.

The photographer could not figure out what was wrong with him, and forced his eyes back to the drink menu. He decided on something four drinks down, just so he wouldn't have to read the rest of the several hundred drink long list and set down the menu.

It was at this time that a giddy voice echoed beside him and he looked up into brown eyes. "Hiya, Cutie!" the girl that stood beside his table exclaimed happily, giving him a little wave.

She was dressed more scantily than Kurama, with her breasts almost popping out of the low cut tee she wore and her tight booty shorts that were frayed at the edges. Hiei looked away, little more than annoyed with this girl that had come out of nowhere.

"You want some company, you seem lonely all over here by your lonesome!" she said as she started for his booth. Before he could answer with his normally rude retorts, wanting nothing to do with the repetitive girl, a calm but graceful voice spoke for him.

"Sorry, Candy, but this one's mine." Kurama stood beside her with a comforting, understanding smile while holding a drink in one hand and a tray tucked under his other. The girl before him pouted, crossing her arms.

"It's so unfair! You always get the cute ones, K'rama!" she declared. The redhead just smiled and leaned forward, kissing her cheek.

"I'll make it up to you, alright?" he promised and she reluctantly nodded, wandering off to find herself a different date. Kurama smiled back down at Hiei and put the Lemon Drop on the table, sliding into the booth beside him, once more forcing him to scoot over.

"Sorry about that," he began, gently easing the drink towards Hiei, who glanced at him.

"I told you I wanted something else," he declared, looking back into those playful green eyes, which just seemed to sparkle even more.

"I know, but I didn't think you'd actually make a decision," came the reply and Hiei frowned. Okay, so he hadn't really. The drink he'd chosen was something he probably wouldn't touch even if he _were_ drunk.

Great, now he had a damned mind reading stripper.

Hiei grabbed the drink and downed it, deciding he really didn't want to deal with it sober. Kurama managed to catch the tip of the drink before he could finish the last drop and pulled it away with a slightly worried, though amused glance.

"Don't drink it all at once, you'll be drunk within the hour!" he said as he set the glass back down, only a little of the original liquid left in it. Hiei glared at him.

"Isn't it easier to do your job when I'm drunk?" he asked, not sure if he had just crossed the line belonging to Kurama, or himself. Kurama frowned, not sure which line had been crossed either.

"Are you saying you want my services, Mr. Manager?" he asked, adding the nickname so as not to make the situation more serious. Hiei blinked at him for a moment before looking away, face tainting slightly red and head feeling woozy, though he knew it wasn't from the alcohol.

"What…do you do?" he asked, finding himself sounding incredibly stupid and he ground his teeth for that. How could he even be contemplating this? But Kurama said nothing if he noticed and merely smiled instead, putting a hand over Hiei's.

"What do you want me to do?" he replied softly, almost whispering. The photographer blinked and blushed even further at the images half of his mind generated as fast as the other half tried to bury them. The smirk on the redhead was almost unbearable. "That much, hm?"

Hiei's blush was spreading all the way to his ears, something that just wasn't normal for the tough, rude photographer. Kurama decided to have mercy and slowly pulled away.

"Tell you what," he began as he slowly moved his exposed leg against Hiei, sliding his calf up the shorter man's leg. The photographer turned beat red, avoiding the green eyes as his skin was set on fire by the touch. The waiter smirked and gently took his leg back, starting to slide out of the booth. "Why don't you come with me to one of the back rooms after you've relaxed and had another drink. You can decide there, alright?"

Hiei had managed to get his rising blood back under control and sent a long glare at Kurama before he nodded, unsure as to why he was agreeing to this. But he could always pull out, right? It's not like he was doing anything he had to commit to.

"Alright, just don't chug the next one." With that, Kurama smiled and headed off, returning only once more within the half hour to deliver that promised drink. Hiei spent the time glaring the shit out of anyone who dared come near him, as well as anyone Kurama came in contact with.

Half of the club was now terrified of the brooding, short man in the corner with no company but his Lemon Drop and the occasion grin of a redheaded stripper.

-o-o-o-

"Wha's got ya in all smiles, K'rama?" Jin asked as the redhead arrived at the bar, presenting his empty tray. Indeed, the stripper was positively beaming as he told the various orders to the redheaded bartender.

"Nothing much, Jin," he replied, but his answer did little to fool the bartender, who had known Kurama for long enough to tell the differences in his moods. "Well, besides the fact that it's not a Karasu night, I've got a little date!"

"A da'e?" the Irish man echoed, eyebrows raising. He scanned the crowd for a moment before his eyes landed on the one lone being in the entire bar. "Ya' kiddin' me, K'rama! Wi' shor'y over 'ere?"

Kurama just smiled and grabbed the full tray. "I'm not telling!" he teased as he pulled away from the bar, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks, Jin!"

The redheaded bartender watched his friend leave the counter, happier than he'd probably ever seen him. Shaking his head, he went back to making drinks, a little smile tainting his lips.

Kurama dispersed the drinks before he headed back over to Hiei, who had finished four Lemon Drops by this time and his cheeks were just barely tainted with the first signs of drunkenness. The redhead smiled gently as he slid into the booth once more.

This time, Hiei didn't move over.

"Well, would you like to come with me?" the redhead asked calmly, though he still had a smile. Hiei knew what he was doing, knew that smile was just a tease to lead him right into trouble he didn't want to get into.

And he wasn't drunk enough to get into it.

He was just…just something enough to get into it.

And damn whatever that something was, but he wanted to see those legs again.

Kurama smiled as Hiei nodded and the two slid off the seat, walking through the throng of people and past the fools dancing away in the middle of the club. The fire demon glared at the flashing lights as he followed Kurama, wondering just what it was he was getting himself into as he did this.

The redhead didn't say anything until they got to the back rooms, where he turned the knob of the same door Hiei saw him enter the night before. Kurama pulled it gently open and gestured for the photographer to go inside.

He did so, though not without a second glance and a second thought.

The redhead followed behind, closing the door as he did so. The spiky haired man glanced around. It wasn't too bleak of a room. There were candles lit and placed around on meager, unnoticeable furniture. In the center was a single sofa, though large enough to fit one person quite comfortably, and two if the occupants were…close.

It wasn't as bad as Hiei had anticipated, expecting bleak walls in an empty room but for a single little chair in the center.

Now how he had got Interrogation Room mixed up with Back Room of a Strip Club, he wasn't quite sure.

Kurama gently took his hand and led him over to the sofa, seeing as he was rather useless in this situation, not knowing anything he should be doing. The stripper kneeled before him as he sat down, rather uncomfortable with the certain position the redhead was in.

But nothing he was visualizing (both to his horror and entertainment) happened as the stripper just smiled and asked casually, "Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

Again, Hiei found himself at somewhat of a loss for what to say or do. Having never been in this position before, he was rather clueless as to what Kurama would do. He knew fairly well what strippers did: they stripped. But he wasn't sure where it ended between Kurama's position of claiming to not be a stripper and the prostitute side of the coin.

He, to be frank, was in completely unfamiliar territory.

The redhead smiled at his loss and stood up slightly. "Would you like me to dance?" he asked softly, still very close to the photographer. "As I did earlier?"

With words suddenly stuck in his throat and not sure what else to do, Hiei nodded, no longer having the will to fight off the voice that told him to say 'no.' The Lemon Drops had taken good care of that voice.

Kurama nodded and slowly began moving his body, much like he had earlier that very day, but this time he kept his eyes open. Green orbs remained focused on Hiei's ruby red ones, much to the older man's delight, and he watched with growing intensity as that body swerved a mere foot in front of him.

Every curve and slow, daunting swing made him want to touch the redhead, to feel that smooth, enticing skin beneath his hands. The skirt was constantly swaying back and forth, showing off varying degrees of the thin, smooth legs beneath and the photographer fought the urge to lean forward.

The redhead slowly moved closer until his body was mere inches from Hiei and, despite the darker haired man's best efforts, he slowly leaned forward without noticing. Kurama smiled at this and gave a slow rotation of his hips, turning around to shake his ass a little before Hiei, something the photographer seemed unable to take his eyes off even as his face heated up.

Kurama slowly lowered himself down, twisting and swinging his body and raising his arms in his very best movements, closing his eyes and dancing for the person before him, the first person he actually liked dancing for since _him_.

It wasn't like dancing for Karasu, in which he always had to keep his guard up, or dancing for other customers who were paying to see his body move. This was by his choice, and he _liked_ dancing for Hiei, because he felt as if the man was watching him, not just his body.

Hiei swallowed heavily as Kurama slowed his movements and finally stopped, facing the photographer with fiery green eyes alive and sparkling. He put either hand on the arms of the chair, leaning over his audience. Hiei found breathing a new challenge, but he managed, keeping that cool, nonchalant look upon his features by the grace of god alone.

"Was that enjoyable?" Kurama asked, his voice slightly husky but not by purpose or in any means unpleasantly so. Hiei delayed for a second, that annoying voice not fully quelled by the alcohol before he nodded, albeit slowly. The redhead smiled, still and sank into a crouch before the photographer. "Would you like something else?"

Hiei swallowed slightly, his voice sounding gruff and irregular to him, though Kurama didn't seem to notice. "What else…can you do?"

Kurama put a hand on Hiei's knee, slowing drawing circles on his black jeans. The photographer shivered at the touch. "Normally…I do not allow much more but…" Viridian eyes met with red and the stripper gave a slight smile, a little more nervous than his others, yet fully confident at the same time. "What do you want me to do?"

Hiei blinked and wondered if this was the sort of thing a stripper told every customer, but decided against it for two reasons. The first was that he didn't want to think about it at the moment; he was enjoying this "you're special" treatment. And two, he actually believed the redhead, considering how fiercely he had defended himself when spoken to the night before about stripping.

With a deep breath, Hiei decided he'd tell the truth and see how Kurama took it from there. "I…want to touch you," he answered honestly, watching those forest green eyes for any judgment or negative reaction.

There was none.

Just another smile, wider than the last. Kurama leaned forward slightly, pressing his chest against Hiei's knees. "Alright, Mr. Manager."

The redhead stood up and took a step back, standing before the photographer. Hiei didn't seem to know what to do, never having gotten past the thought of asking. So Kurama gently took one of Hiei's hands in his own and ran it over the smooth skin of his stomach, slowing beginning to twist and turn in his dance once more.

Hiei didn't need much guidance after that, watching his hands trail over Kurama's skin, from his chest to his stomach and down to his hips and thighs. He avoided the places he thought were going to far, sticking to the exposed flesh. He rose from the chair halfway into the dance and ran deft, slightly calloused fingertips over Kurama's milky skin.

The redhead moaned slightly at the touch of another's hands, having not felt something so desirable in four years, and he leaned back into it, into Hiei as he closed his eyes and just danced without thinking, creating a dance more sensual than anything he had ever done before.

He didn't know what it was about this harsh, rude man before him, but he seemed captivated in a way he couldn't get his mind away from. He'd never felt this way for anyone, not in the four years since _his_ death.

And he had honestly thought he'd never feel this again.

The hands gracing over his stomach and hips sent shivers down his spine and he gently moved against the other body, swaying and brushing and causing friction he didn't want to admit he was causing.

Hiei was completely out of focus by the time he finally figured out what he was doing, his hands wrapped around the thinner frame's waist, hands running over those very places he told himself he'd avoid.

And more than that, Kurama was whimpering and moaning in his arms, creating a mess of himself as he leaned back into the photographer, who was melting amid the very sounds being made.

If this was what Kurama did for a living, he should be making way more money.

That thought seemed to snap him back into some form of distorted reality and he suddenly pulled away, removing his hands from that tantalizing skin. Kurama gasped at the immediate loss of heat and desire and he took a shaky step. Turning to Hiei, who had taken several backwards steps, he gave a confused and worried look.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, suddenly terrified that he had done something wrong, perhaps pushed the man too far. He blinked when Hiei shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Hiei replied in a softer, but gruff voice, unused to making so many apologies in one day, but definitely knowing he needed to say this one. "I shouldn't have...gone so far."

Kurama's eyes widened slightly and he gave a small smile that was more relieved than it was confident. "No, Hiei, you didn't. You wanted to touch me, and I let you. You were doing fine."

Hiei just shook his head, taking another step back and towards the door. "I- I think I should go now. How much do I…?"

Kurama hid the pain he felt far away and shook his head. "Nothing, Hiei. I'm sorry if I pushed you too far."

The fire demon just shook his head and pushed open the door, heading out of the club for a long, lonely drive home and an even lonelier cold shower.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 7_

End

-o-o-o-

Awww, I feel so bad for Hiei! Although…idiot was doing absolutely fine until he pulled away, so more blame on him!

Of course…I wrote it that way so I guess that transfers all the blame on me.

-.-

Have a great day guys, hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Notes**:

_…neon sign above the door that read Tsunami…_ I had SUCH an urge to name it the **'_Demon's Hangout_' **but I resisted. It didn't seem to fit with this story.

Let me know if anyone catches that allusion - drop it off in a review or an e-mail.

Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: …………………………………………………I don't wanna say it.

**Notes**: Thank you to those who pointed out my mistake in calling Kurama "fox/kitsune" and Hiei "fire demon"

These were accidental and my fault for not catching them on the proof read. I am so used to writing them that way, that it's very hard to make myself stop. My sincerest apologies. I hope not to do that in the future.

-o-o-o-

_**Content**_

_Chapter 8_

-o-o-o-

Hiei watched Kurama through a photographic lens, unable to meet his eyes any other way. The boy was talking gently with Yusuke, laughing at his poorly made jokes, but jokes all the same. The photographer watched green eyes dance with a happy, joyous light that bounced around in his movements as he stood or walked or talked or danced.

Yusuke was interviewing him further, though it was much more comfortable than it had been the first time as Kurama grew used to the way the interview was run. Hiei clicked meaningless photos that he knew wouldn't make the cut for the article, but he didn't want to stop looking at the redhead, yet he couldn't look at him directly.

Not after what he had done.

The waiter would occasionally glance at him, sending a gentle smile over which seemed laced with concern and would tear at the guilt Hiei had building up within him. He shouldn't have taken advantage of him like that – it was wrong and it was horrible.

Hiei sighed and shut the lens of his camera with its protective covering. He switched off the power to save what little of his batteries remained after the extensive use he'd made of the camera in order to hide behind the lens. Kurama looked over at him once more and smiled a little brighter, happy to see the brooding photographer without the camera pressed to his face.

The blushing man looked away with a grunt, refusing to return such a bright and happy expression.

Yusuke followed his gaze, having caught the glances between the two on more than one occasion. He dropped his voice somewhat, but not enough to cause suspicion from his colleague, who sat several tables away.

"So, do you like him, Kurama?" the journalist asked almost secretively and wide green eyes turned back to him before grinning almost mischievously.

"Now why would you say that?" the stripper replied, giving Yusuke a rather seductive look which set the journalist's heart aflutter even though he knew it was just a tease.

He just had to keep reminding himself he already had a girlfriend. Over and over in his head… _I have a girlfriend_… _I have a girlfriend_.

Yusuke leaned back, playing the cool, nonchalant card as he looked Kurama up and down. The boy wasn't wearing anything that could be classified as stripper material, actually looking like a normal teenaged boy (though he claimed to be twenty-four). His loose, torn jeans and white tank top looked like any common kid on the road these days, and his dark green button-up that he had on over it, the buttons hanging open, brought out his eyes while radiating the color of his hair.

The journalist concluded that Kurama must look sexy in anything he wore. No wonder Hiei was falling head over heals for the kid.

"Oh, I don't know," he continued to play it cool, drawing out his words in a bored, unimportant manner. "You ask him on a date yet?"

Kurama smiled and put his chin on his linked fingers, supported by his long, thin forearms. "Three days ago," came the soft, but amused, reply. "I think I scared him off."

"Well… what… did you have the date here?" Yusuke balked but stopped at the blinking expression of confusion on the redhead's face. The journalist gave a groan that ended in laughter. "Ah, Kurama, you know everything there is to know about getting a person in a club, but you know nothing of Hiei!"

The redhead seemed a bit confused but smiled. "You mean he's uncomfortable being serviced by a stripper, then?"

Yusuke choked on the beer he had been drinking and saved Kurama from having it spit at him by managing to swallow the liquid before he spoke. "Holy shit, Kurama, how far did you get?"

The stripper gave a little laugh. "Nowhere near that point. It was a hypothetical situation, Yusuke."

The journalist gave a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I would have had to worship you had you managed to get that out of Hiei on a first… date."

Kurama gave a soft smile that seemed slightly sad. "No, I think I scared him off, although I didn't mean to do so. I went very slowly and…I don't know what went wrong."

Yusuke gave the confused stripper a sympathetic look and then lightly pushed against his shoulder. "Hey, relax, man. It isn't you. Look, I've known Hiei since high school, so you can trust me when I say I know him pretty well."

Kurama looked at him, paying close attention to the man, and Yusuke found it almost cute how committed Kurama was to making Hiei like him. The darker haired man crossed his arms on the table. "Now listen, Hiei hates clubs, loud noises, big crowds, all of it. He would have been uncomfortable from the beginning that night. And beyond that, he hates being weak."

Kurama didn't seem to understand and he tilted his head to the side; a lost puppy in the big, wide world. Yusuke gave an understanding laugh. "Hiei's had a rough past that's made him strong but cold. He hates to see weakness and he hates to feel weak."

The redheaded stripper shook his head, still unsure of how that related to his situation and Yusuke gave a light nod. "I'm guessing he felt like he used you; went too far and had no right to do it?"

Kurama blinked wide eyes, surprised at how accurate Yusuke's assessment was, and he nodded almost eagerly, causing his interviewer to laugh again.

"Look, man, you took him out of his comfort zone. Hiei was probably enjoying himself until he realized that you do this with other people and they pay you for it. I'm sure he realized that and felt… well, dirty, for using you like everyone else does."

"But he didn't use me!" Kurama retorted rather loudly and Yusuke quietly shushed him, glancing over at Hiei, who was glaring at them now, although he gave the impression he didn't seem to know what they were talking about.

"He didn't use me," Kurama repeated in a hushed voice, leaning across the table to plead with Yusuke. "I wanted him to touch me!"

Yusuke's eyebrow rose and Kurama suddenly pulled back with a sheepish look as he realized what he'd said and blushed a deep crimson. He decided that his truths were already out and so continued a little shyly, "I- I like him. I like…dancing for him and…I liked his hands on my skin."

The journalist gave a low whistle but was smirking, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. "Dang, you chose a hard guy to fall for, Kurama." The redhead blushed again, but Yusuke only shook his head in amusement. "But you know how to pick 'em. He's a good guy, Kurama. He'll make you happy."

The stripper blushed again. "It's- it's not like he purposed to me or anything. I-I haven't even gotten him out on a real date."

Yusuke nodded again, though he seemed eager to help. "I can do that. I'll get you two out. It'll have to be the evening, right? You work nights and he works days?" The stripper nodded. "Good, then you two can go see a movie before you start work."

Kurama's eyes widened and he glanced at Hiei. "Um…M-maybe we could start smaller. I don't have a lot of money."

Yusuke shook his head. "Not a problem, he'll pay." Kurama blushed again and looked up at him, about to argue but the journalist shook his head. "No, it'll be his treat. I can tell he likes you, Kurama. He won't mind."

The redhead still looked ready to argue but Yusuke just punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Besides, you need some meat on those skinny ass bones. Hiei can treat you to dinner, while he's at it!"

Kurama furled his brow and looked ready to argue thought he seemed at a complete loss as to what to do. He bit his lip, his head still tilted to the side, and Yusuke could only smile. "M-Maybe just dinner," the stripper said gently, fidgeting as he slid a hand through his hair, pushing it back behind his ear.

Yusuke nodded eagerly. "Okay, dinner then. I'll arrange the whole thing!" he exclaimed as he jumped up, already heading towards Hiei, who was glaring fiercely at him. Kurama tried to grab his hand to stop him but missed and stumbled out of the booth to follow after, pausing only when uncertainty hit him.

This wasn't his territory and he wasn't his usual confident self. He had never felt uncertain when dancing in front of a crowd or accepting money to shake a little booty. He'd never had a problem telling Hiei he liked him when it was on his turf, where he could laugh it off if he was rejected.

He hated rejection. He supposed it frightened him more than anything else in the world and being rejected by Hiei would be intolerable. It had taken him four years to find someone he could honestly say he liked and to be rejected by him now would be too painful – too much to bear.

He'd been rejected too many times to have it happen again.

And so, as Yusuke strutted over to the photographer to, as he'd put it, "hook them up". Kurama found he was terrified. What if Hiei disagreed? What if it wasn't that he had been out of his "comfort zone" the last time, but more that he just didn't hold any interest in Kurama?

What if he didn't like him?

The redheaded stripper looked over at Yusuke and wished with all his heart he could call him back, but quickly turned his head away as Hiei's gaze fell on him. The two were already talking and the redhead suddenly felt like a teenaged girl watching her friend ask her crush out for her.

He'd missed his teenage life, but if this is what it would have been like, he wasn't necessarily regretful for missing it.

He had zoned out, completely caught up in his thoughts and fears that he didn't notice the two people in front of him until one was tugging on the red hair that fell in front of his ears. The stripper gave a brief yelp as he looked down, surprised to meet deep crimson eyes. His own widened slightly. "Y-Yes, Hiei?"

"Did you want to go on a date?" the question was abrupt, a little bit rushed, and definitely growled out as if Yusuke had put him up to a dare that he felt he had to complete. Kurama blushed slightly and glanced away, ignoring the thumbs up signals that Yusuke was giving him over Hiei's shoulder.

"Um…i-if you really want to?" Kurama asked, feeling ridiculously childish as his voice stuttered and his heart fluttered. He was nothing more than a preppy girl with a stupid crush!

A crush that just happened to be so extraordinarily lacking in social skills that it sounded as if he'd been dared to more than he'd actually wanted to ask.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't-" Yusuke elbowed Hiei in the back and he directed an annoyed growl at the journalist. "Yes, I want to."

The stripper gave a small smile, though he seemed uncomfortable to the photographer who stood not a foot from him, looking up into his eyes. Hiei thought back for a moment and realized that, considering his past social records, he probably wasn't doing this right.

Maybe the stripper just wanted reassurance? After all, he liked Kurama but his hesitance came because this kid was a stripper, not a normal per-

Hiei froze as his thoughts stopped altogether. What was he going to say? That Kurama wasn't a normal person? What, because of his job?

The photographer wanted to punch himself – hard. That was what Yusuke was trying to make a point of by writing this whole article; a job doesn't define you. Hiei furled his brow in his new determination.

"Um…Hiei?" Kurama asked uncertainly, having watched that rather odd transition flit across Hiei's face. The photographer looked up at him fiercely, but not in anger and he blinked, truly unsure of what to expect next.

And as Hiei reached up once and wrapped his hand around the stripper's red forelock, giving it a light tug, Kurama felt more than lost at these actions. He was completely confused when Hiei suddenly pulled him downward and pressed his lips to the redhead's in a very brief, but heart-pounding kiss.

Yusuke started laughing, almost unable to hold back his urge to fall on the floor; he was laughing just that hard. Hiei turned and glared at him before proceeding to smack him repeatedly over the head until he stopped (about nine slaps later). Kurama just stood there, slightly dazed with a little, happy smile flittering over his features.

Hiei glanced back at the stripper and spared a small smile, which quickly disappeared as he felt Yusuke deserved another slap to his head.

-o-o-o-

Kurama was tired by the time five o'clock rolled around, having gotten up four hours earlier than he normally would have for Yusuke's interview, and having not gotten much sleep after they left, about two hours before his "date" with Hiei.

The redhead was waiting quietly outside the club, leaning against the concrete wall with his arms crossed and legs hooked at the ankles. His outfit now included the beige messenger back he had strung over his head and one shoulder. It didn't hold much, just his keys, a few dollars and a few other random items.

He just didn't feel right leaving with nothing on him. You know…in case something happened- he needed his ID and keys to get back into his room in case…

Kurama shook his head. It was stupid of him to think Hiei might take advantage of him or, his greater fear, leave him at some unknown place because he didn't feel it was working out anymore.

He was brought out of his fears as a small, black car pulled up, the window rolling down. Hiei glanced at him from within the rather expensive car and Kurama blinked, having thought the photographer wouldn't have taken much interest in maintaining a car.

But he supposed most normal humans would have found this to be quite the turn on.

So he summoned a smile and climbed into the passenger seat, folding his long, thin legs into the sports car's frame. Hiei watched those legs, remembering what they looked like in that skirt but quickly shook his head and focused on putting the car into gear.

Kurama shifted slightly as they drove along, a little uncomfortable at the silence in the vehicle and still unsure of himself, out of his territory and "comfort zone." Hiei glanced over at the fidgeting redhead and clicked on the radio.

"Turn it to whatever station you want," he said as he continued driving, heading for what Kurama knew as a nearby boardwalk, styled in the fashions of California. The stripper merely nodded, a little relieved for the break in silence and switched to a random soft rock station he would occasionally listen to when he had the time.

Not a full ten minutes later, Hiei pulled into a parking spot in front of a Hawaiian restaurant located in the beach-like atmosphere. The ocean that lapped at Japan's shores was on the other side of the place, crashing down upon the sands in high tide.

"Come on," Hiei urged as he climbed out of the car, opening the door for Kurama, who seemed unused to the treatment. The photographer watched as his date climbed out of the car, repositioning his messenger bag and green button-up, glancing around.

He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, his red hair now pulled into a high ponytail to keep it out of his face. Hiei only smirked at how much more like a girl it made him look.

"Let's go, you'll like it here," the photographer spoke more to comfort the obviously nervous stripper than anything else. Kurama glanced at him and smiled, following the smaller man into the restaurant.

Hiei was relieved to see that, as the meal moved on, the redhead grew more and more relaxed, showing the smile that had first captured Hiei's attention. The stripper was laughing with every other bite and, as the photographer noticed with slight satisfaction, Kurama was eating with a healthy appetite.

"Kurama," Hiei suddenly spoke as the thought of food crossed his mind, "how much do you normally eat every day?"

The redhead's eyes widened slightly and he blinked, blushing a little, and Hiei realized he'd broached an obviously touchy topic. The stripper didn't answer for a minute before replying quietly, "Not that much."

Hiei gave him a skeptical glance and the redhead blushed further. "There isn't that much extra money in my job. I eat plenty but not…everyday."

The photographer frowned at this and glanced down at the food he was eating, realizing only now how often he took advantage of the little things in life. He growled slightly at the thought of Kurama's words and stabbed his fork into the meat on his plate. "I'm bringing you food everyday so you have something to eat."

Kurama's eyes widened and he blushed. "Tha-that's not necessary!" he exclaimed, fidgeting again and setting his utensils down. Hiei shook his head.

"I'm doing it. You're too skinny, even Yusuke noticed. I don't want you not eating, so don't stop because I mentioned it," the photographer reprimanded and Kurama glanced down at his plate a little guiltily before hesitantly picking his fork up again.

There was nothing further after this conversation topic, the healthy talk having descended into an uncomfortable silence. Hiei ignored the tightness between them, pushing it for a preferred silence. Kurama, however, ate in silence and the food tasted became less enjoyable with every bite he forced down.

The photographer looked at Kurama, watching him carefully. The redhead seemed to grow exponentially more uncomfortable as the silence stretched between the two occupants of the table. Hiei couldn't help but feel guilty as the stripper became fidgety and it was obvious he was no longer enjoying the food.

The photographer cleared his throat slightly, causing the redhead to look up with unhindered, crystal green eyes. "Look…I also want to bring you food because…um…" Hiei glanced away with a light blush that he told himself was merely part of his secondary excuse, which was to make Kurama more comfortable. "Because I'll get to…er…see you."

The redhead's eyes widened further and he turned such a beet red that the shade rivaled that of his beautiful crimson hair. Those green eyes didn't stay on the photographer for very long, quickly glancing away in embarrassment.

By Kami-sama, he was _blushing_ like a giddy little _schoolgirl_!

He cursed himself yet again but couldn't bring the heat away from his soft cheeks. So, he buried his face in food, busying himself with actually enjoying the meal. Hiei watched with amusement for a few minutes before taking up his own fork and attempting something he'd never done before.

Starting up a conversation.

-o-o-o-

By the end of dinner, Hiei was rather proud of himself. He'd managed to learn a little more about Kurama's routine, gotten a few smiles out of that redheaded beauty and, to his utmost satisfaction, made the redhead laugh.

Of everything about the green-eyed stripper, his laugh was definitely the most exciting, enticing, and beautiful thing about him. It was like the soft ringing of bells in dead silence. It was welcoming to the darker-hearted photographer.

Kurama, though pride wasn't on his mind, had blushed more that night than he ever had before, perhaps on the exception of one night four years ago. He'd probably also smiled more than he ever had before.

The redhead wasn't so sure what it was about the short, hot-tempered photographer that made him so honestly happy, but he found himself unable to hold back his sheepish grin. Although his companion for the night was obviously rather inexperienced in socializing (especially with what one might consider a date) his attempts were adorable to the green-eyed beauty.

Against what Yusuke had told Kurama earlier that afternoon, Hiei was already escorting him out of the restaurant and towards a local theatre, growling about some movie the journalist had mentioned. The redhead just nodded, unable to protest as they walked quietly down the street.

"You don't mind action, right?" the shorter one asked in his gruff voice, glancing to his side to look at his date. Kurama shook his head.

"Not at all," he responded as he pushed his bag farther up onto his shoulder and gave his companion a startling smile. Hiei glanced away quickly. "I don't picture you as the movie type, Hiei. Am I right to assume that Yusuke figured you'd hate action movies least?"

The photographer gave a toothy, but rather evil grin. "He'll get what's coming to him," he muttered, almost below hearing level. Kurama gave a light laugh and the shorter man hid his face to hide the flutter in his stomach.

He couldn't believe a mere kid who sold lap dances as a life was causing such a physical reaction in him.

Glancing at the redhead, he stopped for a moment to ponder Kurama's politeness. He'd noticed it the first time he'd held a true conversation with the stripper, but he'd never actually wondered about it. Such mannerisms, vocabulary, and that soft touch to his tone meant that he had had a suitable upbringing, most likely in the higher levels of society.

He couldn't necessarily discriminate against the lower classes, but it was relatively safe to say that Kurama had come from a proper family with at least some cash in their possession. He held pride in his voice and his body, suggesting he'd gone to an upper class school where they had taught him to associate himself properly with others.

Hiei blinked, now finding a new curiosity in his companion's past. There were many possible scenarios, but the photographer wanted to know the right one that had turned the future high society 'hoity-toity' into a blushing, happy, stripper who was but one step from sleeping on the streets.

"Kurama," Hiei began, making sure he'd captured the redhead's attention before continuing, "You don't have to be so polite – at least not to me."

The redhead blinked for a moment and then smiled. "All right, Hiei, I'll try to be more…loose." He accented the word as he rubbed his arm up against the photographer, causing him to shudder as shivers ran down his spine.

"That's not what I meant," the dark haired man growled past clenched teeth but didn't try to move their positions. Instead, he tried for a second 'first' that night – he took Kurama's hand in his own.

And reaped the rewards of the blush that spread across the redhead's face.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 8_

End

-o-o-o-

Oookay, so that's the end of that chapter.

Thanks to **KyoHana **for beta-reading. Though I don't like this chapter, she seemed to. Hope the rest of you are on her side!

Adios


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: Fu-Fu

**Notes**: More Fu-Fu.

**Review Responses:**

**_Nyte Kit_**: When I wrote it, I paused at that particular section in which Kurama called himself a stripper. I took a friggen' three day break from the story because I couldn't decide and was grating myself over writing it that way. However, I consoled myself that it wouldn't bother too many people, at least until I could get the explanation as for why he did that out.

The problem is that the explanation is not for another few chapters. So I apologize that it annoyed you as much as it annoyed me – hang tight, an explanation will be forthcoming…sometime.

**_KittyFox_**: An **"**_Umbrella sort of Guy_**" **would be the kind of person who would order what my dad calls "fancy fu-fu" drinks. They include frozen margaritas, daiquiris, Pina Colodas_, _and other tropical, often frozen drinks served with fruit (cherries, pineapple, and oranges often shish-ka-bobbed on a plastic sword or toothpick of some sort) and which are often accompanied by those small, mini Umbrella's that open and close (they are basically why I order those drinks…besides the fact that I'm a Pina Colada Addict. Yep Rehab did SQUAT for me 8)

So Kurama telling Hiei he didn't seem to be an "umbrella sort of guy" just meant he didn't think Hiei would enjoy fruity, frozen alcoholic beverages. That's much more of a Caribbean Cruise – often female – type of beverage (no offense to the Pina-Coloda obsessed guys out there: Trust me, there aren't enough of you in the world!)

Also, sorry for the delay. School started and it took a hell of a lot out of me when combined with jet lag.

**-o-o-o-**

_**Content**_

_Chapter 9_

**-o-o-o-**

Botan was downstairs during the earlier hours of the afternoon, puttering around as she slipped on her white tennis shoes and grabbed her bag from the counter. She glanced into the bag, double-checking that she had all of the necessary items for leaving that day.

The sudden pounding of tiny feet, followed by the soft pitter patter of a heavier body, turned her face to the stairs at the back of the club. She smiled as an overly hyper Rukura bounded down the stairs, her braided pigtails flying up and down as she did so.

An overly tired, redheaded dancer followed after her, yawning towards the interruption to his beauty sleep. Tiredly, he rubbed one eye as he greeted Botan, "Morning, Blue."

The older woman smiled at her colleague and friend. With a teasing grin, she responded to their personal nicknames. "And what a fine morning it was, Red, though now it's afternoon."

"Too early either way," the redhead answered as he sat down, pulling at the worn but fuzzy robe loosely tied around his waist. Botan smiled as he picked up the coffee she'd already had sitting out and ready for him. "Why'd you send the runt to wake me up?"

Rukura growled indignantly at her favorite uncle figure. She gave a low pout and crossed her arms defensively. "I'm no' a wunt!"

Kurama laughed lightly and ruffled her hair, messing up the pigtails Botan had done earlier. It earned him another indignant squawk from the young girl. "Of course not, Ruku-chan," he lightly cooed to her, though his eyes were riddled with amusement as he turned to Botan.

"Oh, right," she exclaimed, remembering his earlier question, which had gone as yet, unanswered. "I'm sorry to have to get you up early, but can you watch Ruku-chan for me?"

Kurama didn't hesitate as he nodded and took a sip of his fresh coffee; the caffeine doing a number to wake him up. "Of course, Botan. Do you have business today?"

Botan nodded, once more checking her bag, nervous and flustered. "I'm going for another job interview. Hopefully this one will pan out."

The redhead gave her an encouraging smile. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Botan. And besides – you always have the rest of us."

His friend smiled warmly at him, but her eyes seemed sad. Kurama knew that the young mother wanted to provide more for her daughter than the life she had. Yomi had offered, on several occasions, to help with raising the child. Many of the other employees, as well, had loaned or given money, clothes, and supplies to the young girl.

But she was going without an education and a 'good life', as Botan had called it. Kurama was the closest thing to a teacher she had and, despite the boy's near genius IQ, he himself had never completed school. She just wanted better for her daughter.

"Best of luck, Blue." Kurama gave both a farewell and his encouragement one last time as Botan waved back at them from the door. It swung closed on slightly squeaky hinges and the blue-haired stripper was gone.

It was not an hour later, as the technicians were cuing up and double-checking everything in the main rooms – as Yomi had them do at least once every month – when Hiei walked in. Kurama, who had been assisting the techs whenever they asked for it, was currently braiding Rukura's hair once more – considering how he had messed it up earlier. However, they were up to twenty-four braids, and still had the last quarter of her hair to finish.

_So much for pigtails_, the redhead mused.

Those awake in the bar and club were made aware of Hiei's presence the moment the door squealed open, releasing an annoying high-pitched sound that was getting worse each time the door was opened. Kurama made a note to tell Yomi about it.

The photographer strolled over to the redhead, a cloth bag swinging gently from his right hand as he walked. Coming to the stripper, he greeted him with a small grunt as Kurama kissed him lightly on his cheek. These actions had become their common greeting over the past month since their first date.

And Hiei often found himself wondering if he could take his actions a little further – maybe return the kiss? No, no, he wasn't the kiss-on-the-cheek type, at least not the giving type. Even though he often found his eyes wandering down to those full, luscious lips that always seemed to beckon- to taunt him closer, he knew that he couldn't go that far. Not yet – not with this boy who could hardly be more than half his age.

Kurama remained completely oblivious to the darker man's thoughts and instead gave him a warm smile as his fingers moved, twisting and weaving Rukura's hair as he did. The young girl was practically bouncing in her seat, making his job all that much more difficult.

"Mis'er Hi-ay! Mis'er Hi-ay!" she exclaimed excitedly, still moving up and down in her seat as she squinted up at the dark haired photographer with a wild smile – one that showed her front tooth missing.

"Finally lost it, ne, shrimp?" he replied, handing the cloth bag to Kurama as the redhead tied off the small braid he was working on.

"Yep!" the little girl cried out excitedly, almost forgetting about being called a shrimp. She decided that his praise over her lost tooth was worth forgetting about the insult this one time. "And Mommy said the tooth fairy will come tonight!"

"I'm sure she will," Kurama answered with a warm smile for the girl as he pulled a bento box out of the cloth bag Hiei had brought. He opened it to reveal a homemade lunch. "Thank you," he directed his words to Hiei. "And thank your sister for me, again."

"Relax, Red," Hiei answered, having picked up the nickname from not only Botan, but also the other workers. He set his camera bag down on the table as he hoisted Rukura out of the chair. Her legs hugged his side as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung there, playing with his hair. "She loves cooking – actually, she's just happy there's someone else to enjoy it."

In actuality, Yukina was thrilled not only that Kurama loved her cooking (though it definitely pleased her) but also that her brother had finally found an interest in his life. For as long as she could remember – ever since their mother had died – Hiei had done nothing but take care of her. Everything he accomplished in life – everything he worked for was to better her life.

And he had worked hard for the last nine years.

"Wha' abou' meeeee, Mis'er Hi-ay?" Rukura pulled a little at Hiei's hair. The photographer grunted.

"You don't need any food – you're already so heavy!" he joked lightly with the young girl, whose lips suddenly pouted angrily as she crossed her arms with the little attitude she often reserved, especially for the dark haired man.

"I'm g'woing!" she retorted indignantly, her brow, still slightly heavy with the baby fat evident on her cute, round face, furled over to form a very angry frown for a five year old.

Hiei merely laughed at the expression, wondering how he had rarely seen the sweetness in children before. Normally he hated kids. But for this little girl, who seemed to be a heavy competitor for Kurama's heart, he would make an exception.

Reaching into his camera bag's outer pocket, he pulled out a candy bar he had purchased on his way over to the _Tsunami _bar. He handed it to the brunette child, whose eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers.

"There's enough in Kurama's lunch for you to share," Hiei told her as he set her back down on the ground. "Don't eat that until you have some lunch."

The young girl nodded eagerly, holding tightly to the chocolate as she moved over to the seat Kurama pulled out for her. She hopped up onto it, her little legs dangling in the skirt she wore, and tore into the bento lunch. The photographer, watching Rukura happily, turned as he felt, more than saw, Kurama's eyes on him.

The redhead was staring warmly at him and he narrowed his eyes in a glare. "What?"

Kurama shook his head with a mirthful laugh. "Nothing, Mr. Manager," he replied as he pulled Rukura's half-finished braids away from her face while she ate, happily humming a tune. "Make sure you give your sister my appreciation."

Hiei rolled his eyes at the ever polite redhead who would probably remind him another three times before he left to thank his sister. "Hn. You can give it to her yourself tonight."

He felt a rather smug sensation creep through him as Kurama's head shot up from where it had been focused on Rukura's hair. His emerald eyes widened in surprise and – was that – yes, Hiei felt another burst of smugness at the slight apprehension in those eyes.

"What?"

Hiei let his satisfaction show through a smirk, though it rather contradicted the annoyance that ate at him with his next words. "My idiotic colleague is courting her."

Kurama smiled knowingly, his apprehension still there (after all, he knew that Yukina was Hiei's only family – it was rather like going to meet the parents, after all) but he felt more relaxed at being able to read the reason so well.

"You told her she could only go if you went," he clarified, much to Hiei's annoyance. Apparently, the photographer did not like being read so easily.

His frustration showed through his red eyes as he glared. "So she invited you as well."

Kurama's mirth died once more at the thought. He had never met Yukina, though Hiei's praise of her made him often picture an angel fallen to earth by mistake. Especially compared to Hiei's demonic personality.

He bit his lip in apprehension, but from more than just meeting his premature-love's only remaining family.

It was a Karasu night.

And that meant that at ten o'clock precisely, the moment he was on shift and the club part of the bar opened, the damn black-haired menace would be there, seeking him out.

"What…time?" Kurama asked hesitantly. He refused to tell Hiei which days Karasu showed up on – considering that no more than a week had passed from their first date that the photographer had figured out just exactly what Karasu was.

And he was _not_ a normal customer.

Hiei's eyes darkened slightly. Even without Kurama saying it, he knew. As the stripper could read him, he was learning to read Kurama as well. However, he would not mention his knowledge for it would only make the redhead defensive and nervous. "Six. You'll be back before ten, I promise."

Kurama paused to think for a moment – four hours should give him plenty of time to eat a nice dinner, get back to clean up and be on shift before Karasu should notice any absence.

He didn't want to think about what that damn man might do if he discovered the redhead was…dating.

"Alright," Kurama said with a weak smile, mostly due to the aforementioned thoughts, which he was trying to rid from his mind. "I'll be ready at five-thirty."

Hiei eyed him for a moment, hiding the concern he felt at Kurama's nervousness. But it was only for a moment and then he gave a curt nod. "Good. I'll pick you up then."

The redhead gave him a much brighter smile, his earlier plight (_whatever it was_, thought Hiei) on its way to being forgotten completely. Reaching forward, Kurama gave his boyfriend (the term still gave him butterflies) a peck on the cheek, laughing when Rukura burst into a fit of giggles before claiming that it was "eeeewwwww!" worthy.

-o-o-o-

At exactly five-thirty, no more than three seconds past the change of the clock hanging behind the bar, the doors to the club squeaked open, emitting light into the slightly dim interior of the club. The shining source of light turned the normally invisible dust specks within the air into glittering confetti that floated aimlessly around, without a care in the world. It had a calming effect on Kurama, who had turned when the door opened.

It reminded him of that old house where he had spent the best six months of his entire life.

And then it had all ended so easily – so suddenly.

Kurama ended his reverie with a soft smile in Hiei's direction as the photographer strode into the bar, passing by the tables and empty dance floor. The redhead gave his lover a small greeting as he turned back to Jin, who was mixing various alcohols into several different drinks.

Hiei watched him for only a moment – enough to notice that his hands seemed shaky and the drinks made by what seemed to be random innovation. With a curious frown, he greeted the redhead who had easily warmed up after seeing how happy Kurama had been for the last month.

Practically bouncing around with little flowers flowing out from beneath every step he took. It made Jin laugh to see the young redhead so jovial.

"Hallo, 'Iei!" the bartender said in greeting, though his voice held a slightly higher octave of squeakiness than it normally did.

Hiei gave a curt nod and a short, "Hn. Jin," in return before turning to Kurama, whose smile only widened. "Let's go."

"Yes, sir!" Kurama answered with a little mock salute. He turned back to Jin and rose up onto his tiptoes to lean over the bar. With one leg swinging up in a ridiculous mockery of a swooning girl (an imitation Kurama loved teasing with) he gave the redheaded bartender a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Bye Jin, best of luck tonight!"

"Yeah, I'll be nee'ing tonigh'!" he exclaimed with a slight grimace that broke through his smile. The redheaded stripper gave one more smile for good luck before prancing away from the bar and next to Hiei, who turned and started on his way out.

The photographer glanced slightly over at Kurama, who seemed to practically skip beside him, despite the slight concern that was clearly evident on his face. It was obvious that the redhead was nervous about meeting Hiei's sister, which only made the spiky haired man laugh.

Like his sister could ever _not_ like someone. And with Kurama's looks and personality, there was no way in hell that Yukina could ever do anything but love the guy. Just like she loved everything and everyone else.

They climbed into the car in relative silence, though the stripper seemed to be humming a quiet tune to himself, perhaps to calm those nerves that were evident in his movement. Kurama decided after a moment that the silence had stretched long enough (though it was their normal form of communication and he never did have a problem with it) and began making small talk to fill that silence.

"Where are we going?"

Hiei gave a light shrug as he started to drive, taking them into the more heavy traffic of the deeper city. "Some seafood restaurant," he replied carelessly. "Why was Jin there so early?"

It was true that the bar didn't open until nine (the club not until ten) so Jin didn't have to be there at five, the time at which he'd shown up, nervously wringing his hands and blue eyes darting back and forth like someone was after him.

Kurama laughed at the memory of the normally hyper bartender. "He has a date

tonight – a blind date at six, so he's really nervous. And when he's nervous, he makes drinks."

Hiei frowned in confusion, raising an eyebrow in Kurama's direction to conclude the expression. The redhead laughed again. "I know, I know, it's weird but some of the best drinks I've ever tasted came about because of his nervousness."

The photographer let out a small grunt of laughter, though it was quieted by the thought that Kurama was definitely not old enough to be drinking. He eyed his date. "Have you had any tonight?"

The redhead nodded, though it seemed more reserved. "Only sips," he corrected as he watched the buildings pass. "I taste-test for him."

Hiei nodded and decided that it was enough torment for the redhead for the night. Over the past month, the photographer had avoided asking Kurama much about his personal life – especially his age, but he knew the redhead sensed his curiosity…and got nervous because of it.

"So," Hiei started, deciding he would change the topic, even as Kurama tensed in the passenger seat, expecting another intrusive question, "who's this blind date?"

Kurama let out a small breath he hadn't known he was holding and relaxed his muscles, leaning back into the chair. "Your editor."

Those muscles didn't stay loose for long as the car suddenly swerved, careening dangerously towards the crowded sidewalk. Luckily, Hiei recovered the machine before anything drastic could occur – but Kurama was holding on in a white-knuckled grip, suddenly terrified as he gulped down the reaction.

"What?" Hiei asked, shocked enough to almost crash their car. "You mean Touya?"

Kurama nodded nervously, almost over-zealously trying to get the answer out lest his ride somehow come to a short end. Perhaps telling Hiei in the car that his boss was being hooked up was a bad idea on his part – well, maybe just bad timing. "Y-Yeah, I think that was his name. Yusuke s-set it up."

His grip was slowly loosening now that the car seemed to be safely in the middle of the lane, away from the sidewalk and any oncoming traffic.

Hiei growled slightly at the thought of his nosy, meddling co-worker. "He should learn to mind his own damn business."

Kurama frowned slightly at this, feeling a small pang in his chest. He looked down at his clasped hands resting in his lap. "He got you to ask me out," he whispered quietly, not sure if he really wanted Hiei to hear him. But the photographer did and frowned, realizing what he had just said.

"Sorry, Red – I didn't mean it like that."

The redhead merely nodded, though he still seemed slightly put out. "Besides," he said, adjusting his body in the leather seat, "Jin seems really excited."

The remainder of the ride passed in silence, slightly uncomfortable but not enough to cause either to know how to change it. And so they let it be until they pulled into the parking lot of the seafood restaurant.

Kurama climbed out, his long legs hidden beneath loose black slacks tied at the waist with a long crimson sash. He wore a Chinese shirt buttoned up the side and across the shoulder to the neck. It was a dark black with dim red patterns across the fabric, ending in the yin and yang at the bottom of the sleeves.

Hiei felt slightly under-dressed beside the beauty, having opted for only black jeans and a black dress shirt. He shrugged off the foreign sensation however – he dressed in what was comfortable and appropriate for him. Besides, there was no way in hell he would ever be caught dead in the things Kurama wore…

If he could even figure out how to get them on.

The photographer shook his head quickly at those thoughts, for such things required imagining how to put on Kurama's clothes, which in turn, changed to how to _take off_ Kurama's clothes.

Which put a very pleasant but extremely inappropriate and unwanted image of Kurama, a blush spread across pale skin, body pressed into the leather of the chair, shivering in need as Hiei slowly slipped off that thin fabric and lowered his hands to-

NO!

Hiei shook his head again, adding extra emphasis this time. Kurama was watching him with an amused expression of curiosity, leaning against the frame of the car, as Hiei was on still on the driver's side of the automobile.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, though his voice was tinted with humor. The redhead glanced towards the restaurant. "Are we going in?"

"Hn," Hiei gave his usual response and moved away from the car and that oh-so-delectable image. This was hardly the place to be having teenage fantasies. "Let's go."

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 9_

End

-o-o-o-

And, I'll leave you on that oh-so-fun note.

Hahaha, have that image in your mind? Want more – huh? Huh?

Well you have to WAIT FOR IT!

…wow, that was childish and rather annoying of me.

8D

Hope you all enjoyed that chapter, which was for both **KyoHana **and **KittyFoxy**. Oh, and Thank you **KyoHana **for Beta-reading. BLAME HER!!

Please review.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: Fu-Fu-Fu

**Notes**: This particular chapter is dedicated to **BlueUtopiah**.

Also, sorry this chapter (along with the majority of all my stories) is so late. Senior year of high school kicked my ass but this girl is going to college! Whoo-hoo!

**Consent Laws as applied to This Story**: Certain laws in Japan will come into play later in the story as it continues to develop. I will keep this list at the top of every following chapter and add to it when each new law comes into play with the story.

-_**Age of Maturity (adulthood) in Japan**__: _18

-_**Legal age of consent for sexual conduct: **_13

-_**Rehabilitation and Protection of Sexually Assaulted Children**_: Children are placed under guardianship or in an institution (after a diagnosis of the physical and mental damage)

**Law Note: **I have no idea what an institution is in Japan…I'm guessing it's like Foster Care in the U.S., but I don't want to say, 'Foster Care,' so I will be calling it Guardianship, or an Institution.

**-o-o-o-**

_**Content**_

_Chapter 10_

**-o-o-o-**

Hiei and Kurama entered the seafood restaurant, the redhead hanging slightly behind his shorter date. Unlike Hiei, whose nerves were recovering from the recent onslaught of images, Kurama's nerves were just beginning to climb.

He was no longer used to nice restaurants with white tablecloths and repeats on silverware at each place. Not to mention, he'd been far too young to truly appreciate such settings back when he'd been immersed in them.

And Yomi strictly forbid the act of Hosting which he'd been asked to play several times with some of his richer, classier clients.

So to say he was out of his league was no understatement. And hiding behind his boyfriend, who was a good foot shorter than he even with that fun-tabulous hair, was not exactly helping.

Hiei, observant with his crimson eyes, noticed immediately and just rolled them as he grabbed Kurama's wrist and pulled him forward to the hostess' podium. In her neat, pressed black dress and hair pulled back into a bun, she looked up with a bright smile, adjusting her glasses.

"How may I help you, sir?"

"Reservation. Jaganshi."

Kurama held back the small smile at Hiei's forward, and yet abbreviated, manner which really shouldn't have surprised him at all.

The hostess blinked at his directness as well, but shook it off quickly, and glanced down at her books. "Good evening, Jaganshi-san. The rest of your party has not yet arrived, but if you will follow me, I'll show you to your table."

Hiei, hand still holding a firm grip on Kurama's wrist (as if the redhead were intending to bolt out of the restaurant, which was not at all his intention), trailed after the woman. As she seated them, he thanked her with his customary "Hn", which only few could decipher (the hostess not being one of them), and glanced over to Kurama.

They sat at a white-clothed table, the two side by side in the booth that surrounded it, looking out at the rest of the restaurant patrons that night. Kurama was fidgeting with his clothes again, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"Relax, Red."

Kurama gave him a weak smile but seemed to sink back into the booth, trying to hide himself. "What if someone recognizes me?"

Hiei gave a snort. He'd only been acquainted with Kurama for little more than a month so he wasn't exactly that informed regarding the redhead's clientele list, but he hardly doubted any attendees of _Tsunami _came here as well.

"They won't," was his reply as he took a sip from his water glass the moment one of the waiters filled it. "And even if someone does… fine… so what? We're just having dinner."

Despite his reassurances (which weren't reassuring Kurama, who didn't do the 'host' bit this was sure to look like should any of his…clients see him, nor did he want any of said_...clients_ to know that he had a boyfriend) the redhead maintained a slight fidget. He continued to play with the hem of his shirt and then the edge of the tablecloth, and then the small fork, and then the big fork, and then the water glass and then the- damn it, where was that oaf with his sister?

It did give the photographer time to observe his date, which was something he found fascinating every time he was in the presence of his so-called boyfriend. Despite his nervous twittering, it was obvious the redhead had been among wealth before. He sat with a straight back, a soft hand to the water glass and linens, and an obvious eye to what was in front of him: on the table and among him in the restaurant.

Hiei already had his opinions and hunches of where Kurama may have come from, at least class-wise. From the way he spoke, and his mannerisms, the redhead was born into a world of refinement. Despite his uneasiness, his familiarity with his settings clearly spoke of his birth into a world of some money as well.

But, still, there was the question of what he had done to leave such a world. Or be cast from it.

Suddenly unable to hold back his smirk at the thought of Kurama sitting among rich aristocrats – bored beyond all reason (and dressed in some of his…less refined

clothing) – he reached forward and brushed back a garnet forelock that had escaped; tucking the strands back behind his date's ear. Green eyes turned to him, questioning, before they gave a light smile, some of the nervousness flittering out of them.

"Relax," he whispered once more, his voice barely heard above the din of the restaurant around them. Kurama's eyes remained caught within his, and for a moment, Hiei leaned forward, the urge to kiss those lips once more filling his stomach and reaching up through his body to ignite his nerves.

Of course, this called forth some…previous images already examined by the photographer and he pulled away extremely quickly, his face tarnished red in the candlelight of their table.

The dancer blinked, his eyes having just begun to lid as he leaned into Hiei. Now the photographer sat, positively _glaring_ at the tabletop with beet-red cheeks and the countenance of one extremely embarrassed child who simply did not get his way.

"Hie-"

"Onii-san!" Kurama's voice was interrupted by a softer, higher pitch and the two looked up to see a teal haired girl coming towards them, draped in a snow-white kimono dotted with green and blue butterflies. Behind her, Kurama vaguely recognized Kuwabara – work colleague of Hiei and best friend of Yusuke.

Hiei immediately sat up straighter, some normal color returning to his cheeks but not enough to hide from his sister, who let Kuwabara hold her hand as she scooted into the booth (much to the photographer's chagrin) and beside her brother.

"Onii-san, what happened? Your face is bright red!" Her cheerful red eyes, a match to her twin's, clouded with worry as she applied the back of her hand to her brother's forehead. "You're not coming down with something, are you?"

Hiei gently brushed her hand away, gruff even with his sister – though it was an affectionate display for anyone who knew him. "I'm fine, Yukina. Nothing for you to worry about."

The smile that lit her face could light up the world, Kurama decided as he watched the two interact. It certainly was enough to light the redhead's, for it caused a small, happy upturn of Hiei's lips.

"Oh!" Yukina suddenly exclaimed, catching the dancer's gaze (and his surprise at her outburst). "I'm so sorry! How terribly rude of me; I'm Jaganshi Yukina!"

From her already seated position, and with Kuwabara's sitting at the end of the booth preventing her from getting up, she was unable to bow fully and so gave a small half bow from her upper torso.

Kurama gave a smile and mimicked her gesture, already liking Hiei's upbeat and very sweet twin. "I'm Kurama, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Yukina-san." He saw Hiei's glance at the purposely absent last name but did nothing.

For all intensive purposes in this world, he no longer had one.

Yukina beamed, having not noticed anything lacking as her brother had. Kuwabara smiled as well, nodding to Kurama. They had been introduced before, and so there was no need to do so again.

Hiei, however, felt the need to make some sort of (derogative) comment, considering who it was. "Oaf, what took you so long? I assumed you had the ability to tell time when I told you six."

"What did you say, Shrimp?" Kuwabara shrieked out in protest, capturing half the restaurant's attention. Kurama winced at the unwanted eyes on them. "You want to say that to my face?"

"I just did."

Before anyone else (aka Kurama) could intervene, Yukina spoke up, her face and voice as innocent as ever. "It was my fault, Onii-san, I couldn't find my bag. Our apartment is eating things again."

Hiei glanced at her before he merely gave a nod – all was forgiven then. Kurama swore that if the whole scene was a manga, the sweat drop rolling down his head would take over an entire panel.

Had this been daily life for these three since high school?

And to think they could be in-laws one day.

Although, he really was getting ahead of himself. Hiei had just now begun to let Kuwabara court his sister and only after years of begging, years of pressure from their other friends, and Yukina herself asking him to relent.

Kurama was quickly seeing that the smoothest, most direct way to Hiei's heart was through his sister.

No wonder he kept her so close and protected.

The waiter approached the table once more and handed the newly arrived couple their menus. Following suit, Kurama opened the one already lying closed on the white cloth before him and nearly dropped it once more.

Having previously kept an eye on the redhead throughout the night and deciphering his motions, Hiei immediately knew what was wrong. So as not to call attention to the matter, he leaned over and whispered to his date from behind his own menu, "Ignore the prices, Red, I'm paying."

"Hiei-"

"Don't argue, Kurama," the photographer insisted as he pulled back once more. "Just order something you'll eat."

To inexperienced ears, it once more sounded like a quip at his skinniness, but the comment had the dancer smiling slightly. He was becoming good at decoding Hiei's cryptic words, discovering when Hiei was insulting someone or when he was merely hiding his concern and kindness behind the gruff exterior that composed his outer shell.

To put it simply, Hiei was willing to pay for the food if Kurama was willing to enjoy it.

The rest of dinner proceeded without further qualms – at least nothing major. The bickering between the tallest and shortest male members at the table persisted, but under a more subdued atmosphere.

Hiei was pleased to find Yukina and Kurama getting along as though they'd known each other for all their lives. The two were both soft-spoken, easy going, and had almost identical laughs that somehow reminded him of the first peaceful snowfall on a winter's night.

And though the photographer remained silent, with the exception of a glare every time Kuwabara got too close to Yukina ('close' being defined here as the required two-foot space between his sister and the oaf), he managed the occasional (and very small) smile or participation in the conversation.

All of this was aided, of course, by Kurama's small nudging or soft hand gripping his own beneath the table, which would turn his cheeks red once more (despite his effort to fight it) and again summon Yukina's attention to the state of his health and further her confusion when he insisted he was fine.

He blamed Kurama entirely.

-o-o-o-

Kurama gave a small laugh as he pulled away from the frail, smaller form of Yukina, releasing her from the farewell hug. She smiled up at him, grinning in a way that sent his mind reeling to think that she and Hiei were twins, and that his face, too, might bear such an expression.

"It was so nice meeting you, Kurama-kun," she said as they walked down the few steps that led to the parking lot. "I'm glad that my brother has met someone so kind and who makes him happy."

The redhead couldn't help but blush (dammit, not the schoolgirl bit again!) as he gave her a gentle smile. "I'm glad to be here for him, and I must admit he makes me happy as well. And you and Kuwabara-san – you both seem so sweet together."

Two feet away, Hiei was rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to gag at the affectionate scene of over-flowing, flowery words. He glanced at Kuwabara, the repulsion growing at the lovey-dovey look with which the taller male was showering _his_ sister. A small growl put him back in his place, but only for a time span of about five seconds.

The photographer glanced back to his own date, wondering if he should be going 'googly-eyed' over the redhead. It wasn't his way, but he knew that there were hundreds out there who would kill for the chance to date something as fine as Kurama, and that was without a glimpse into his personality, which added tenfold to that number.

Hiei growled at his thoughts. What was he, some love-sick puppy?

"You're making funny sounds at yourself again."

The photographer looked up and blinked. When had Kurama stopped beside his car? When had Yukina and Kuwabara bid them farewell and started for their own?

…Dammit!

He still blamed Kurama entirely.

They climbed into the vehicle, the smile on the redhead's face only exacerbating Hiei's foul mood at having had such a lapse in attention. However, he wasn't the only one. Kurama himself had been having such a good time at dinner that time itself had not meant anything to him and as the digital numbers of the dashboard clock caught his attention, he froze.

**9:37**

He swallowed slightly, turning away as his good mood suddenly died. He'd almost forgotten about the life he lived, the world he lived in…the job he lived with. This wasn't his world.

He didn't go to fancy restaurants and converse with sweet, beautiful girls and men obsessed with being manly.

He didn't meet the perfect dream guy who wanted to be his everything and rescue him from it too.

"I'll get you back, Kurama."

The dancer was broken from his own broken thoughts and turned wide eyes to Hiei, half of him wondering if he imagined what he'd heard. Had the photographer somehow sensed his thoughts?

When he realized his date was talking about the time and the drive home, he had to force the pain in his green depths to vanish. Hiei was staring at him, having immediately sensed the sudden drop in mood but nothing more.

"It only takes fifteen minutes to get back to the bar."

Kurama nodded, not quite managing a smile but not really putting the effort into one either. He was pretty sure his date would see through it. Besides, Hiei would obviously think his sudden change in disposition was concern for getting back on time.

And he'd let him think that.

After all, where was this going to go? Kurama let his gaze draw to the window as they started to drive. He didn't know what Hiei had in mind for his future, but he doubted it included a wayward stripper with little future for himself.

But he couldn't help thinking about the last few hours and how easy it had been to forget everything about his life. To forget what he was and the pain that such a thing entailed.

No, he knew this wasn't going anywhere, but that was no reason to end it so soon.

Kurama gave a soft smile, his forehead against the cold pane of glass that separated him from the passing night and flashing lights of the streets beyond. He was satisfied with dreaming of what he could have with Hiei, even if he knew, realistically, he'd never have it.

The photographer, driving in what was becoming a much thicker atmosphere than he was used to, stole looks at the redhead periodically. Kurama was staring out the window and, though he thought he caught a smile on his face, Hiei had the distinct feeling that there were some very negative thoughts floating around that beautiful head.

Kurama shifted, sitting up and grabbing his bag. He opened it, pulling out a bottle of water and taking a small sip. He went to shove the liquid back into his bag when he paused, staring into it's depths with a puzzled frown just beginning to crease his features.

Hiei, meanwhile, was making quite the habit of glancing at Kurama from the corner of his eye (such sites often incurring images that nearly had Hiei driving off the road – yet again). The change was noticed immediately and he frowned in synch with his date.

"Red, what's wrong?"

The dancer had begun to sort through the contents, slowly at first, as if unsure if he should be doing what he was doing, before his movements became more rapid, almost panicked. "Where is it?" he muttered to himself, shoving his hand deeper into the bag before finally turning it completely upside down and emptying the entire container's contents into his lap.

"Kurama?"

The redhead didn't respond for a moment, shaking the bag and then looking down at his lap. Water bottle, sunglasses' case, keys, a few random pictures, disposable camera, assorted odds and ends.

No wallet.

"Shit!" he swore, beginning to shove the contents back into the bag. "My wallet's not here. I must have left it back at the restaurant."

"Are you sure?" Hiei asked, glancing at the clock. **9:44** They'd be back at the bar in less than ten minutes if they kept going, but they'd never make it back in time for Kurama's shift if they returned to the restaurant now.

"Yeah, I took it out when the bill came," Kurama replied, recalling how Hiei had glared at him when he'd done so until he'd finally scooped the wallet sheepishly off the table. He must have set it on the seat beside him and not back into his bag as he'd thought.

Kurama looked somewhat distraught now, and he gave a small puff of air, brushing his bangs up off his forehead. It was a somewhat cute pout that had Hiei _almost_ driving off the road again with the implications of when _else_ Kurama might wear that same expression.

"Do you want me to drop you off and go back?"

Kurama glanced at the clock as well, doing the same calculations Hiei had done. He knew he wasn't going to make it back in time for his shift – in time for Karasu – if they went back.

But he couldn't show up at work without his identification. Not if someone asked for proof of his age. And the more responsible, the more caring – and the more paranoid – clients sometimes did.

And when he didn't have his I.D. on him, it only aroused the suspicion that he didn't want to show them proof of his age, which only led to allegations and a lot of work and trouble for him and Yomi.

"No, I don't want to trouble you like that. Can…can we go back? It'll be okay if I'm a few minutes late."

Hiei nodded and pulled a U-turn at the next available spot (which really just meant sending Kurama flying to meet Mr. Window up close and personal – not the best first meeting ever) and headed back.

Kurama returned his gaze to the window, praying to whatever god might be listening that Karasu was either late, sick, or (best of all) dead and just not coming tonight.

-o-o-o-

Hiei sat in the idling car outside the restaurant, alternating slow looks between the clock and the front doors.

He had his own doubts about this. Again, he didn't know Kurama's life very well, but he knew the fear in the redhead's eyes when that damn Karasu was involved, and he had to admit that he was both apprehensive and angry over what the man might do should Kurama be late.

The redhead emerged minutes later with a waiter escorting him out. He came down the steps, wallet in hand, and entered the car with a wave to the restaurant employee who returned the gesture before going back inside.

"Got it!" Kurama exclaimed happily as he shut the door, re-buckling his seatbelt. Hiei merely nodded and started the car, heading out at a slightly faster speed than they had been going previously.

Kurama glanced at the clock and added fifteen minutes to it. They'd get to the bar about five minutes after ten. That wasn't so bad.

"Hey, Red?"

The dancer, who was holding onto the bag in his lap like a bookworm holding his favorite novel, glanced over with a puzzled expression. "Yes?"

"Why do you need your wallet?"

Kurama's brow furled slightly before he erased it with a smile. "If someone asks what my age is, I'm required to show proof that I work for Yomi legally."

That thin, black eyebrow rose above a garnet eye. Legally? Hiei already knew that was complete bullshit and the gnawing curiosity began to eat away at him. A thick silence filled the space between them and Kurama fidgeted slightly, fearing what was coming next.

"Kurama," Hiei began, never one to think about asking a question before actually asking it. "How old are you?"

The redhead gave a heart-stopping smile with a teasing air to it. "Didn't you read Yusuke-san's article, Hiei?" he asked with a light and mocking voice. "I'm twenty-fou-"

"I'm twenty-four, Kurama" Hiei interrupted somewhat coldly, though he hadn't quite meant it that way. "I know you're not."

"I am too!" Kurama protested almost childishly, like a kid angry that his parents didn't believe what he said about not having stolen the cookies from the cookie jar. Then he suddenly smirked most teasingly, leaning forward and letting his hair slip over his shoulder seductively. His back arched as he spanned the space between the seats, stomach brushing over the center console.

Hiei was driving off the road again.

"Want to see my ID?" the redhead asked with a light laugh in his voice.

The photographer fought the urge to pull off the road (that which he was already driving off of, of course) and kept up his cold front to resist the redhead beside him. "Anyone can get a fake ID, Kurama," he returned, turning from the main roads and feeding through the back roads towards the club. "I bet Yomi can get a pretty damn convincing one."

Silence once more filled the car as green eyes refused to look at the driver. A soft thud indicated the redhead had collapsed back into his seat where he remained, biting his lip and trying not to let his nerves show but failing miserably. After another bout of such thick, uncomfortable silence, the stripper mumbled softly, "I'm nineteen."

Hiei didn't let the silence go for quite as long. "You're lying again." The photographer didn't know exactly how he knew, but Kurama's tone changed whenever he lied. It wasn't just the simple softness that his voice normally held. It almost gave an edge that begged someone to call him out on it, as if he was a creature never meant to lie.

Or perhaps, it wasn't so much that he was never meant to lie, but that he lied so much with no one able to call him out on it that he longed for that one person who would see through it… and make him stop.

Kurama glanced almost fearfully over at him, a mixture of sheepishness and hesitation on the thought of challenging his accusation. "Hiei-"

The older man didn't even let him try to defend himself as he interrupted, "No, Kurama, I can hear it in your voice. You're lying."

The thickness of the quiet that followed surpassed any other as Kurama knew he was caught. He felt his chest tighten as he fisted the black slacks he wore. They were nearing the club, but they weren't going to get there before Hiei demanded the truth from him, and the redhead knew it.

"I'm seventeen."

The whisper was so quiet that, in the permeating silence, Hiei almost missed it. He barely withheld the urge to ask his date to repeat it, knowing that it was already putting Kurama under stress for having admitted it once.

It wasn't surprise that greeted Hiei – he'd already had his suspicions about the dancer's age from the start and, if not then, then certainly from the interview. No, it was a slow, building anger and a protectiveness he hadn't been prepared for that caught him off guard.

Suddenly, he didn't like that Kurama was working at a strip club whereas before, he'd held no opinion on the matter.

Why? Because it wasn't his problem? What made it his problem now – because they were dating? Not really, if Kurama was only seventeen than even that was illegal. Was it because he was defensive about children? He wasn't that much and Kurama was almost an adult either way.

Yet it still made his chest tighten and his hands go white on the steering wheel. "You're underage." He hadn't meant to make his voice so tight, his teeth clench so hard. He hadn't meant to make Kurama flinch like that.

As they pulled up to the back entrance of the bar -- beside the loading dock for the

trucks – Hiei turned to Kurama. The redhead wasn't looking at him. His gaze was locked on the window, fearfully turned on the door and counting down the seconds before he could leave the car and all of this conversation behind him.

"How long until you're eighteen, Kurama?" Hiei put the car into park but didn't unlock the door. The photographer was well aware that the redhead could unlock it himself, but he was banking on the hope that Kurama wouldn't.

"My birthday is in September."

Hiei nodded, turning off the engine. "Seven months," he replied, his voice softening somewhat. In truth, part of him was angry to hear the admission of age because it meant that he and Kurama weren't – couldn't –

"Please don't tell anyone," Kurama's voice, hushed but with a note of pleading panic in it, broke through his thoughts. He sounded defeated, scared. "Yomi will get into trouble, and they'll put me under guardianship or in some sort of institution."

His voice was speeding up now and Hiei raised his hand to try and interrupt, beginning to call out his name but not even getting out a full syllable. "And it's not like I have a bad life here! I like my life. It's not like I sleep with-"

"Kurama!" Hiei's sharp, but somewhat desperate, call to halt him finally succeeded after several weaker attempts; and the redhead faltered, green eyes wavering back to him. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

The dancer stared at him, unreadable emotion flickering across his face. He looked so unsure of himself, so unready to believe the photographer, and yet so desperately wanting to do so.

He looked his age.

"I…it's just a job," he whispered, sounding like a lost child who didn't know how to handle the situation. A child seeking someone who did.

"I'm not your parent, Kurama," Hiei answered firmly. "I've no right to judge you."

For whatever reason, the two sentences correlated together caused the redhead to blanch and he flinched, glancing away as he went pale. He nodded in a form of understanding and appreciation, however.

Hiei, while pondering this odd piece of information, stopped suddenly as a new thought came to mind. It was something that had come up during the interview with Yusuke a month ago.

_How long have you been working here?_

He hadn't been lying. Crimson eyes looked back at the redhead and a slow sense of dread filled him. He hadn't been lying. Just what sort of life had Kurama led or was still leading?

"Kurama," he asked slowly, catching the dancer's attention. "When did you start working for Yomi?"

The redhead looked ready to lie again as he opened his mouth, but paused, catching Hiei's eyes. Those lips slowly slid shut as he realized once more that he wasn't going to get away with anything. A lie would do no good here.

"Kurama, how long?"

A small shrug of one shoulder was all the confirmation Hiei needed before the soft answer came. "Four years."

Even though he knew it was coming, it still floored him. "Four…Kurama, you were thirteen?"

The redhead winced slightly at the raised level of his voice and the mixture of accusation and disgust buried deep within Hiei's tones. "N-not entirely," he defended, his own voice growing a bit in strength, though still weak in comparison. "I mean, I was thirteen when Y-Yomi took me in, but he wouldn't let me earn my own keep until I was sixteen, and even then I fought with him about it! He didn't want me to dance!"

"With good reason!" Hiei argued, his head reeling with the prospect of everything. Even when he'd imagined the four year scenario a month ago, he'd never truly applied it. It wasn't someone he'd known.

It wasn't someone he'd cared about.

"Don't you understand how illegal this is?" he asked, turning to Kurama. He opened his mouth to continue but stopped instantly. He didn't know where he had made his mistake, but he knew he'd made one by the look on Kurama's face.

Hurt, angry, betrayed.

"Which _this_?" Kurama asked, his voice biting into Hiei's very skin with its icy edge. "The _this_ that allows me to eat, to survive? Or the _this_ between you and me?"

Hiei paused, knowing that it wasn't fair to lie to him when he'd been denying the redhead the same consideration for the last ten minutes. With something between a frustrated growl and a weary sigh, he relented, "The honest answer is both, Kurama, but I was talking about your job."

"Why should it matter?" the younger boy exclaimed almost on cue, barely letting the photographer finish. "I would have died on the streets if Yomi hadn't taken me in!"

Hiei's eyes widened to a point that might have been comical on his small face had the conversation not been so dire. He'd never calculated the possibility that at thirteen years old, Kurama had been homeless.

He didn't know why it hadn't come up, but such a sweet, polite, well-groomed kid didn't seem the type to scrounge around for food and fight his way to survive.

"Why should it matter if I'm younger?" the redhead continued, not letting Hiei's weak protests interrupt him. "Money is needed to survive. I'm not allowed to survive because I'm underage? Because I'm younger than everyone else?"

"Stop-" Hiei tried to catch Kurama's attention during his enraged and almost hysterical rant as he became more and more volatile. Finally, he reached out and firmly grabbed Kurama's chin, halting the tirade. "Kurama! That's what parents are for."

The reaction was instantaneous and Hiei had his answer as green eyes sought anywhere but red and Kurama gently pulled his chin out of Hiei's rough fingers.

"You don't have any, do you?"

The silence that filled the car was a far more sorrowful one than the awkward occurrences of late. "None that would allow my return."

'_So they're not dead_,' Hiei thought. _'But he was thrown out…Like me._' Hiei looked away, staring at the outside world beyond the windshield. Down the street, a couple walked by, the man wrapping his arm around the woman's shoulders. _'But unlike me, he didn't have anyone else who would support him….at least not until he found Yomi._'

He gave a soft sigh. "Kurama, I understand your position – perhaps better than you

think – but working there is _illegal_."

The sudden noise of the outside world entered the car and he turned in surprise to find Kurama climbing out of it. "Fine, then stop coming."

The door slammed and Hiei swore as the redhead started for the back entrance of the club. He opened his own door, pulling himself out of the vehicle. "Kurama!" He moved around the car, managing a burst of speed to catch the dancer, which wasn't that hard – he had the feeling Kurama wanted to be caught.

"I don't want to stop coming, Kurama," he said, holding firmly to the thin wrist as those sharp eyes turned to meet his. "I want you to stop working-"

The arm he held was wrenched away from him. "This is my home, Hiei," Kurama bit out, his voice defensive and firm – so much more than just a teenager who was lost and confused. "These are friends and my family: the only one I have left and I won't lose them again."

Angry at his lack of social skills and inability to say what he wanted for fear of it being wrong, Hiei grabbed Kurama's wrist once more, his grip tighter. Since when had he ever cared about rules, anyway?

"I don't want to take them away from you! I don't want you to lose your family!" he cried, and Kurama once more glared at him, but a flicker of uncertainty broke through that fierceness. A flicker of possibility. "I don't want other people touching you, Kurama! I don't want men dreaming of fucking you!"

Viridian eyes widened slightly and cast a glance down the alleyway. Thank the gods no one else was around to hear this, but a quick tug at his wrist pulled all his attention back to Hiei. Back to where it should be.

"I want you to be happy – I want you to be _safe_," his firm voice was forcing Kurama to back up somewhat, but for every step back he took, Hiei took one forward until the redhead found himself with his spine pressed against the concrete wall of the club as Hiei stood before him, inches away. "No seventeen-year-old should have to live this life!"

"Hi-Hiei-"

"Don't you get it, Kurama?" he asked, moving one step closer and closing all but the last inch that was between them. The dancer's breath caught in his throat as Hiei's lips brushed over his. "I care about you and I don't want other people touching you…I'm the only one who gets to do that."

Kurama's breathless response was lost as Hiei's mouth fiercely claimed his own. Anger and sorrow over those things only just discussed, and the fleeting knowledge that this once more might lead nowhere, were all stolen from him by the luscious touch of those full lips.

His hands were gripped, intertwined in Hiei's and pressed up against the wall. His body followed, kept there by the flush of the photographer's own – more skin against skin, cloth on cloth.

Lips parted before the sweep of a tongue that requested entrance and threatened intrusion whether granted permission or not. Unhindered, their tongues met and tangled, fighting briefly for dominance. Hiei clearly won, ending the redhead's fight as he slid a knee between long, thin legs.

Kurama couldn't resist the moan that whispered past his defenses.

How long had it been since he had been touched and not disgusted? How long since he had been held and not paid to do so? How long since he had let himself feel anything without being guarded?

How long ago was he last kissed?

Slowly, Hiei pulled away and let oxygen flow back into the deprived lungs of both of them. Their swollen lips, gently moving with each breathless pant, still brushed against one another, tempting more than just an exchange of oxygen.

"H-Hiei…"

The photographer gently pulled Kurama's hands off of the wall, lowering them to either side. The dancer kept their fingers entwined together as he touched his forehead to Hiei's shoulder. His breath still came in quiet pants, refusing to calm as his mind (and certain other parts of him) drifted to other things Hiei could do.

"We can't do this, Red," the shorter of the two whispered, but a tone of regret and a lack of firmness merely confirmed to the redhead that Hiei was trying to convince himself far more than he was trying to convince Kurama.

"You started it." He gave the reply in a light moan, his nether regions protesting the very thought of his boyfriend's words.

"Yeah, well, I'm stopping it." Hiei's reply, hurried in a very unconvincing manner, made Kurama lift his head. Bright green eyes – filled with a mixture of questioning, hope, and pain – met the photographer's. Lips brushed his once more as the dancer barely dipped his head forward and Hiei pulled back, trying and failing to stay firm to his words. "F-For now."

Kurama had to hold back a sigh at his boyfriend's commitment to legal decree; a moan of complete and utter sexual dissatisfaction at being left with a little (well, he wouldn't call it little) problem; and a squeal at the possibility of more at a later date.

Well, Hiei had just basically – in a roundabout manner and only after the pleading look, brushing lips and a round of hot kissing against a wall (not necessarily in that order) – told Kurama he wasn't ending the relationship, just adhering to celibacy until the redhead's eighteenth birthday.

So he guessed he could compromise as well, considering his boyfriend had technically just done the same, though he couldn't really see what loss it was to Hiei. The photographer obviously wanted Kurama, and after that little display, the stripper was pretty sure the knowledge of the mutuality of that desire was well known.

But it was also obvious that Hiei was more than just chivalrous and wasn't going to take…or give Kurama what he wanted just yet. So, with a soft sigh and the gentle replacement of his head against Hiei's shoulder, he said, "Fine. I'll…I'll talk to Yomi about quitting, but I want to finish paying him back for those years."

Perhaps if his own body wasn't yelling at him – screaming in protest – for denying himself possibly the sexiest person on the entire planet, surprise at Kurama's agreement might had registered across Hiei's face. Instead, he merely nodded, untangling one of his hands and running his fingers through Kurama's hair. Despite a month's worth of dating, he'd never played with the red strands, though he'd desperately wanted to do so.

Something had always restrained him. The knowledge that Kurama was a stripper who got paid for such things. The fact that he was underage: something he'd known even before he'd coaxed it out of the redhead. An inner desire to show him, somehow, that he wasn't another stereotypical man out for a slam, bam, thank you ma-….sir.

"I want you to go back to school," he replied, happy to know that those strands were just as soft and wonderful to feel slipping through his fingers as he'd imagined.

Kurama pulled back, suddenly shaking his head and pulling his hair from Hiei's grasp. "I can't, I won't have time to go to school and work to pay rent."

Hiei mimicked the gesture of a shaken head. "I'll pay, Kurama. You can stay with Yukina and me until you find someplace."

Although the prospect of staying with Hiei was alluring, and Kurama was sure that under the same roof it wouldn't be long until the man relinquished his foolish, law-abiding ways, the dancer also knew that a journalistic photographer wasn't exactly the high roller at the table.

"Hiei, you can't afford that," he whispered. The darker haired of the two said nothing for a moment, neither affirming nor denying that statement.

"I'll manage," was all he replied, glancing down at his watch. They were more than just a little late now.

Kurama glanced at the time as well, releasing Hiei's other hand. **10:24** Oh, Karasu was going to be so displeased. "I have to go," he said quietly, still staring at the second hand of his date's watch as it ticked away.

Hiei nodded and reached down, picking up Kurama's bag from the ground. He hadn't remembered it falling from the redhead's shoulder. Then again, he really hadn't been worrying about such things when ravishing the dancer's mouth.

His cheeks tinted slightly red at the very thought and he growled at himself, forcing his blood to cool. It was bad enough that he had attacked the redhead as much as he had – it was worse that it hadn't even compared to what his mind (and body) truly wanted him to do.

"You're making those noises again," Kurama said with a smile, which helped to calm the photographer immediately, and yet sent his heart into a pile of silly-putty. Dammit, he wasn't some hormonal, love-sick girl – he should be able to face his own date without blushing and swooning over every smile and sexual image his mind conjured u- oh, and there's another one.

Hiei had to turn away to hide the blush and the nosebleed that threatened.

Smiling serenely and with half an idea as to exactly what Hiei's problem was (and maybe convincing his law-abiding boyfriend to be less law-abiding wouldn't be so hard after all…), Kurama leaned forward and wrapped his arms over the photographer's shoulders, crossing them against his chest and burying his cheek in his boyfriend's hair. He breathed in his deep scent of cinnamon and pine, wondering what obscure cologne he used.

"I'll talk to Yomi tonight, I promise," he murmured against the strands, his eyes closed and enjoying the serenity too much to leave. He didn't want to let go of this life, even if it was only to go to work. Still, it felt too much like he was permanently letting go and might never grasp it again.

Hiei turned in his arms, looking up at him as Kurama removed his chin from his hair. "Tell me your name. Your real name."

Surprised, the redhead stared at him with slightly widened green eyes. A smile that threatened to become contagious broke out over his face. "Will you remember it?"

The photographer, thinking this an odd question, frowned for a moment but nodded. "I will. I promise."

The smile widened as Kurama replied gently, as if it was a secret meant for Hiei, and the wind that blew between them, alone to know, "It's Shuichi."

Red eyes glanced to the side, as if contemplating the compatibility of the name and the one who stood before him. An upturned corner of his mouth into the barest hints of a smirk was the only result, but it certainly made Kurama feel like a prized jewel.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Shuichi." The way the words were stated made it clear that it was the only time Hiei would ever use his real name and Kurama felt his chest flutter slightly. It was something about how perceptive the man before him was: to know that he didn't want to be called that, and yet still wanted someone to know what he was really called.

Hiei pulled out of Kurama's arms and started back for the car. "Be careful," he added as he headed around to the driver's side. He was obviously referring to Karasu, knowing that that bastard was not going to like having a late dancer.

It would be fine, though. The redhead would claim to have been sick or otherwise preoccupied with anything but a sexy photographer and a late night wall-make-out session. He'd blame Yomi if he had to – he knew the blind owner wouldn't mind (he'd probably endorse the idea).

"Hiei?" Kurama called, stopping him from climbing in as he opened the car door. Red eyes met his and he gave a weaker, more nervous smile. "That…when you…That kiss…Did you mean it?"

Owlish eyes blinked for a moment but were deadly serious all the same when he answered, "I did."

Kurama gave another smile, this one stronger and almost blinding with the intensity of his delight. "Then…would you again?"

Hiei had never imagined Kurama to be so hesitant in these matters. He really was a child in so many ways, despite his obvious adulthood in…others. Giving a grin, which dare he say was a tad bit cocky, the photographer moved back around the car and grabbed Kurama by the forelock of hair that hung in front of one ear.

The second kiss was far more tender than the last – an act of compassion and dedication rather than a show of dominance. Where the first had left Kurama with shaking knees and a rough, burning desire, this kiss left him breathless and needing his date's support just to stand.

"Hiei…"

"I'm glad you like the sound of my name so much," his boyfriend whispered against his lips as he pulled back. _I'll like it better when you're screaming it._

Hiei jerked away slightly at that thought and the images it had conjured. No! Bad. Bad bad bad Hiei! Remember: underage.

Kurama still had his eyes half lidded, the photographer's abrupt change having gone unnoticed. Quickly recovering, Hiei brushed his boyfriend's red hair back behind his ears, taking a deep breath to calm himself even as green eyes slowly opened the rest of the way.

"Go talk to Yomi," he said softly, thumb brushing over the soft, white skin of Kurama's cheek. The redhead managed to nod, not really trusting his own voice yet. "Goodnight, Red."

"Night," he said almost dreamily, turning towards the club's back doors. Hiei just rolled his eyes and climbed into his car as Kurama disappeared into the club.

Dark blue lights met his eyes as the sound of automatically closing doors slammed behind him followed by an engine roaring to life. Kurama sighed and leaned against the wall of the club's back hallway, bringing his hand up to his lips and closing his eyes.

Why did Hiei have to be so perfect (in an oddly unsocial, somewhat hostile way)?

His heart was hammering inside his chest gleefully as a smile spread over his face. He pushed off the wall, giving almost a giggle at the energy that soared through his body. In four years he hadn't been this happy.

No, for four years he had lived only with a feeling of content, never happiness.

Movement caught the corner of his eyes and he gasped as hands suddenly grabbed him, slamming him up and against the wall he had been so happily leaning against seconds before.

"Wha-" He never finished his words as the air left him. A forearm pressed against his throat, threatening to choke off his air supply. Green eyes widened in absolute terror as furious violet irises confronted him, mere inches away.

"So who's your little friend, _Shuichi_?"

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 10 _

End

-o-o-o-

**Author Notes**:

…_My birthday is in September…_ For those of you reading _Keeping Quiet_, I'm sure you're well aware that the YYH boys don't have birthdays. Kuwabara didn't and I spent just as much time scouring the internet for Kurama's! Let me know if anyone has his b-day, because this one's made up too – anyways, he seemed like a fall birthday, possibly winter.

…_The second kiss was far more tender than…_ Let me say this first – my computer is a complete idiot. I write "more tender" and it tells me it should be tendered. I change it to tenderer and it tells me that word is not a word.

So…Trust your ear – more tender. Trust your computer (never gonna happen) and you get tenderer….Seriously, Tenderer?! What the hell?!

"…_Tell me your name…Will you remember it…I promise_…" There's a little original Manga sweetness for you. I don't know why, but I just couldn't help but throw it in. It fits with the story and the plot, so I just couldn't help it.

_Yukina in General: _While writing this, I noticed something rather shocking…I don't think I've ever written Yukina in a story. I always kill her off…Poor Yukina! I love her to death (ooh…bad pun), but she's the best way to torture Hiei and therefore the best way to torture Kurama too…

However, because I've never written her…I have almost no experience with her…

So I consulted with the best (tee-hee), but am still a little unsure of myself. Please, **review** and **let me know** how Yukina was. If there's anything I can do to make her better, please let me know.

_The 'Heated Ending'_: I have never had such a hard time writing a kissing scene in my life. Sheesh. Took me four days!

**End Author Notes**

Well, that's it for this chapter. Sorry for the cliffy, but I'll work on updating on a better schedule. School's not for a few months, but when it actually starts, I can't say what will happen. However, I will try.

Thanks for reading and please review!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: Blah-Blah (see Chapter 1)

**Notes**: HAPPY BIRTHDAY **BLUE!! **Here's your gift and I hope it was a good surprise!

Also, sorry this chapter (like the last) took so long to update. I'm in college now and, it's not quiet kicking my ass, but it's quite the adjustment!

**Warning Note**: The rating is going up a notch. I'll repeat in bold so those of you skimming actually see this. The **RATING** is going **UP**. This chapter gets a bit stronger in the graphic qualities and in the things normal people do not do to other normal people.

**Consent Laws as applied to This Story**:

-_**Age of Maturity (adulthood) in Japan**__: _18

-_**Legal age of consent for sexual conduct: **_13

-_**Rehabilitation and Protection of Sexually Assaulted Children**_: Children are placed under guardianship or in an institution (after a diagnosis of the physical and mental damage)

**Law Note: **I have no idea what an institution is in Japan…I'm guessing it's like Foster Care in the U.S., but I don't want to say, 'Foster Care,' so I will be calling it Guardianship, or an Institution.

-o-o-o-

_**Content**_

_Chapter 11_

-o-o-o-

Kurama gasped as his back was slammed into the wall, momentarily taking away the air in his lungs. Karasu's eyes bored into his, chilling every inch of blood flowing through his veins and stealing away whatever breath the wall had failed to take from him.

"So who's your little friend, Shuichi?"

The words were icy – daring Kurama to say anything other than what Karasu wanted to hear. And Kurama knew not to challenge the madman in front of him with anything other than a submissive refusal of whatever it was he was accused.

Especially when he had been listening to Hiei and the redhead long enough to catch his name.

"N-No one, Karasu," the dancer stuttered, clutching at the forearm pressed against his throat. The desire to breathe (a mildly humorous thought quickly pushed down by the weight and severity of the situation) forced his nails to dig into the milky skin pressed against his own. "Please let go."

Karasu leaned in closer, the dim light illuminating his features. Kurama couldn't resist the urge to lean back, but found himself with nowhere to go. With a wall keeping him exactly where he was pinned, the stripper was mere inches away from the enraged features of his worst nightmare.

"That kiss didn't look like it came from no one."

Kurama blanched. He knew his skin lost all color and he also knew that it was a dead give away he wouldn't be able to hide.

Karasu had seen them and now he knew more than just a name.

The redhead suddenly struggled, all logic and reason lost at the sudden terror that gripped him. The man before him was deathly possessive – he didn't need any sort of intuition to know that.

And now he knew that his most prized 'possession' wasn't really his.

Kurama let out a mangled gasp as his body was pulled several inches away from the wall by a powerful hand suddenly wrapped around his throat. He cried out, cut off by that very hand, when he was forcefully slammed back against the surface, followed by Karasu's body pressing harshly against his.

"You listen to me." The hiss – volatile and deadly – sent shivers from his ear, where it was delivered, to his legs which had started to shake. The hand on his throat loosened, and he tightly shut his eyes; relief at such a movement quickly replaced by revolution. Karasu's fingers had begun stroking the already bruising skin there. "You think I'll just _let _you quit, my little Shuichi?"

His name on those lips sounded so _wrong_.

"And isn't little a quaint word?" Suddenly the body on him was gone – the hand on his throat no longer stroking. Kurama opened his eyes, a caution more filled with dread than anything. Karasu was smirking just a foot away, standing with the confidence of a hunter who'd cornered his prey with a trap rather than a chase.

He suddenly crossed one arm over his chest and put the other to his chin, as if thinking something over. The poise made Kurama almost physically sick. "Don't you think the authorities would be interested to learn you're only _seventeen_?"

The rise in his voice had the redhead's whole body shaking (from fear or anger, even Kurama didn't know). How had he found out? They had been in the car – there was no way the man could have-

"_No seventeen-year-old should have to live this life!"_

Kurama, if possible, paled further and Karasu's smug stance merely thickened in absolute superiority, violet eyes flashing as they once more gripped Kurama's viridian pupils.

"Well, of course, Yomi would be arrested. You would end up with a guardian. The bar would close." Karasu made a small 'tsk' sound, as if he cared about what happened to the establishment. The redhead in front of him gripped the wall to keep himself steady. His skin had taken on the color of a ghost.

"Oh!" the man suddenly exclaimed, taking a sudden step towards Kurama and making his breath hitch as black hair brushed against him with the movement. Pale, malicious lips were inches from his. "That would mean your friends would all lose their jobs."

Kurama looked away, unable to stare into those cold eyes any longer and all they

implied – all he knew they were _going_ to imply. Harsh, gripping fingers dug into his chin, however, and pulled his face and eyes back.

Karasu was regarding him with such cold seriousness that the dancer could feel his heart drop somewhere into the acids of his stomach and dissolve into black nothingness.

"And with that little 'nothing' I just saw," he spoke, his voice a frosty tone of such severity as Kurama had never heard, "I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to imagine what _else_ that little runt has been doing to you. So he'd be off to jail as well."

Fear and anger combined into something the redhead hadn't felt in four years and a strength he'd forgotten he'd had found his hands fisting in Karasu's shirt and shoving him back. "We haven't done anything!"

If the dark man was surprised by the outburst, it was quickly covered as he rounded back on the stripper, pinning him once more to the wall. Kurama's breath was stolen by lips brushing his, practically glowing eyes staring first into his own before darting down to glance at their brushing skin.

"Now that's one good thing." The voice was soft, silky and almost seductive. That change brought a shiver to Kurama and he tried not to breathe, not to think. Karasu's hands, one buried in red strands, the other in the collar of his shirt, began slowly caressing him. "Because your virginity – your tight ass –" The hand on his collar moved to the back of his slacks and he couldn't stop the whimper as fingers dug into round flesh. "– is mine."

"Stop," he muttered, gathering his voice and trying to find that strength he'd discovered before. He wanted to shove Karasu off of him but he couldn't move his hands from the wall. He couldn't move himself from his cornered position.

Karasu shifted, his knee forcing its way between Kurama's legs and pressing up against him, grinding slightly. The man's smirk widened as Kurama moaned, trying to hide it. His body was still craving what Hiei had begun to offer and Karasu took advantage of that.

"Oh no, you're not quitting, my dear Shuichi. Not until I get what's mine," he whispered in his ear, biting on the soft outer shell as Kurama shook against him. Slowly, with one more squeeze to his ass, he pulled away from the stripper, who looked like he was going to collapse.

"Now then," Karasu readjusted his hair and clothes, which had been jostled slightly in their activities. "I'll be expecting you – the usual room, of course."

Kurama stared straight ahead: unresponsive and only hearing the retreating footsteps as Karasu walked away. He managed to hold himself upright, friction more than anything keeping him from falling.

"Oh, and do remember, Kurama. We wouldn't want anyone to find out about Shuichi's _little_ secret, now would we?" Karasu resumed his movements, disappearing through the doorway to the club accompanied by a burst of loud dance music. Kurama let loose a weak sob and slowly slid down the wall. He hit the ground with a thud.

Numb, unable to feel anything but his shaking hands trying to fist the ground beneath him, he didn't even notice the tears running down his cheeks.

-o-o-o-

Jin glanced up from his bartending as a flash of red he usually only saw in the mirror caught his eye. _Kurama!_

A smile lit his face and he waved his arm at the young dancer coming towards him. He had _so _much to tell the kid, who he knew would be just as equally excited about the news of his oh-so-successful date.

Ah, he could still feel the tingly sensation that coursed through his body when he thought of that man's smile.

Touya…

Jin's smile turned almost dreamy as he lowered his hand. That smile, however, dissipated quickly as he watched Kurama pass him, cutting through the edge of the crowd without so much as a nod in his direction.

The boy looked ashen, his face drawn tight with worry and an expression Jin could only acquaint with one about to throw up or fall down…or both. He stumbled, his usual grace absent as he managed to catch himself on a fellow attendee of the bar. The woman, righting him, seemed to express concerns Jin found himself feeling as well.

His worry increased when the dancer merely mumbled something and continued on, heading to the back rooms.

"Eh, Botan?" The blue-headed stripper currently doubling as one of the waitresses of the bar turned to him, hair and other extremities bouncing right along with her smile. "Wha's wrong with K'rama, you suppose?"

With a small furl of her eyebrows, the closest thing the young mother really ever got to a frown, she turned and searched for the redhead. Spotting him and already noticing the odd change in his walk – like a surgery patient just out of anesthesia – Botan called out.

The frowns of both employees deepened when they got no form of reply.

"We'd best be tellin' Yomi about this," Jin said hurriedly, his hushed voice laced with concern for the youngest member of their makeshift family. Botan nodded, leaving her tray on the table and scuttling off almost immediately.

It went unspoken that Jin would find another to cover the stripper's tables while she went to inform their boss that something was very wrong with their favorite green-eyed dancer.

-o-o-o-

Kurama knew, beyond all logic and reason that his logical and reasonable mind was forcing on him, that he was screwed.

He only prayed it wouldn't be literally.

_Karasu wouldn't actually dare do that in the club_, he assured himself, wringing his hands as he approached the usual door – the usual nightmare. Only this time, it felt so much more real. _Would he?_

He paused outside - his hand not brave enough: arm not strong enough - to reach out and grab the handle. Karasu wouldn't dare go so far in Yomi's club. And it wasn't like Kurama would just let him take him in such a public place.

He would fight. He would _scream_. And the music wasn't that damn loud.

No, Karasu certainly couldn't do anything in the club. So as long as the redhead stayed in the club, he was safe…er. That didn't mean he wouldn't be touched. Wouldn't be watched and molested and threatened.

Kurama closed his eyes tightly, hiding away the emeralds so many seemed to love.

He could do this for them – for Blue and Jin and Yomi and…

Hiei.

Crystalline eyes opened, far calmer than before. An arm reached out, fingers clasped the doorknob, still shaking, and turned. He tried to ignore the silky scent of burning candles that greeted him as he pushed the black door open.

Karasu sat in his usual position.

Kurama slowly entered the room, knowing there would be no staying against the door this night. Though his eyes portrayed calmness about them, his body did not register it and his movements were shaky, lacking much of their usual rhythm.

But he refused to let the man see.

A wave of that thin, pale hand was enough, almost, to make him flinch. So much for not seeing. "Begin, Kurama."

The teenager, feeling bare before someone who knew him now for what he truly was, tried hard to breathe evenly, to steady his body and feel that calm he always felt when he wanted to dance.

Not that he ever wanted to dance before this man.

"I said begin, _Shuichi_."

The warning in that frosty tone wasn't lost upon the dancer, making him almost jump yet again. With clenched fists, those nails digging into his palms and taking away some of the building fear, stress, anger, pain, _disgust_- Kurama managed to begin moving.

He turned, keeping his back mostly to Karasu as he danced. His rhythmic movements were not as sensual or graceful as they usually were (nor as they could be, for he never danced to his best ability around this man) but were more focused on staying steady. He wouldn't let that bastard have any pleasure from his fears.

"Face me, Kurama."

Emerald eyes tightened, having already slid closed. It was the last thing he wanted to do in such a situation. After so many dances and so many horrible sessions with the filth sitting behind him, the boy was well aware of exactly what Karasu wanted to see.

His face.

There was some obscene obsession the man held with Kurama's face – constantly calling it beautiful: the face of an angel with the devil beneath.

Kurama was half-convinced he should gouge his own skin just to displease the man.

A yelp ripped him away from his thoughts and dilemmas. Karasu, obviously displeased with what he took as direct disobedience of his orders (and was actually Kurama stalling for time), had sat forward and grabbed Kurama's waist. His hands did not travel over his body but held him firmly in place, almost harshly.

"What are you doing?" the redhead whispered, stilling his movements but not daring to pry those hands off. He was well aware that a fight would only arouse the man further. And at this point (and every other point he had ever encountered in such a situation), he knew that enticing Karasu was the very last thing you ever wanted to do.

"Well, if you're not going to follow my instructions, _which I pay for_-" Kurama gasped as he was spun around, meeting violet eyes that peered up at him from lustful, malicious depths. "-then why should I follow your rules? Now dance."

Kurama, trying to keep his body from shaking (and managing to keep it out of most of his system, save for his arms and fists) couldn't look away from those fierce eyes. Anger and fear sparked together in his mind, a similar feeling to what he had felt in the hallway when he shoved Karasu off of him.

He didn't like this man telling him what to do.

"I can't dance with your hands on my waist." The bite wasn't as sharp as he'd meant it to be, but it still had a snapping tone. He felt a certain pride in having attained it.

Violet eyes narrowed dangerously and he was suddenly spun around harshly, another gasp accompanying the movement. "Dance. Now, Shuichi."

Those hands hadn't moved and the redhead winced at nails that dug in sharply to his skin through the material of his shirt. Still, it was a curious thing for Karasu to turn him around when the man usually insisted to see his face.

He yelped as he was suddenly forced to move, those gripping fingers swaying his body as a puppeteer might manipulate his puppet's strings. "If you make me repeat myself once more, our deal will be off."

Kurama could feel some of the color leaving his face. He was in here to keep the bar safe, to keep his loved ones safe. Biting his lip and clamping down on the pride that bubbled with the anger and fear that swelled in his chest, he slowly began to move without the aid of those hands, though they did not leave his body.

He managed to maintain a shaky rhythm as fingers began to roam, playing over black slacks and down slightly feminine thighs that were beginning to shake.

"I had hoped you'd change before you came to me," the murmur floated up to him, as if spoken from barely parted lips. He knew that right now Karasu's eyes would be locked on his own hands, traveling over cloth that hid the form beneath.

Kurama did not deign to reply, trying to ignore every trace of the one in the room and thinking of other hands he'd rather have on him. Emerald eyes snapped open in surprise when an image of spiky black hair and red eyes came to him.

He was so used to seeing indigo blue.

A cry of surprise broke through what he had believed to be the silence of the room as those hands around his waist suddenly, almost angrily, wrapped around him and pulled him down onto the lap of the man behind him.

A man with neither blue nor red eyes.

"Stop!" Kurama cried out as the arm around his waist tightly restrained him even as he tried to get back up. He was silenced quite suddenly and with something he was not proud to call a gasp or moan, as Karasu's other hand rubbed over his crotch.

The redhead's struggles doubled after a moment of surprise and disoriented arousal – this was not the man he wanted to be feeling this around. "L-Let go of me. Get your hand off of me, Karasu!"

His voice, growing firmer with each word that was spoken was broken as the hand gripping and rubbing grew angry and squeezed. He let out a weak cry, biting down on his lip and bowing his head forward to keep anything more from coming out.

"I'm getting what I paid for _now_," Karasu hissed in his ear and Kurama realized very suddenly that he had been wrong – oh so very wrong – to assume Karasu would do nothing just because they were in a club. "What I always pay for."

That hand holding him down tightened, even as the other pulled at the waistband of his pants and disappeared beneath cloth. Kurama cried out, bucking his hips in an attempt to keep away the skin-on-skin contact Karasu obviously sought.

The arm around his waist pulled him back down, almost painfully squeezing his innards even as the hand between his legs gripped him. His breath caught as heat surged through his body – the contact alone generated its own warmth as flesh rubbed on flesh.

But he didn't want this. Even if his body could be tricked, his mind was firm.

"Get off me!" he cried out, his body once more coming to life as his own arms sprung forward. One hand gripped the hand buried in his slacks, the other digging into the flesh that held him down. "Get off me!"

The second shriek, far louder than the first, threatened to break through the room's thick walls and door. Karasu knew the consequences of such a thing happening and knew what Kurama's plan to do so would bring.

The dark haired man ripped his arm off of Kurama's waist, losing the grip of the smaller hand that had been trying to pry him off. The redhead let out another cry, much to Karasu's malevolent delight, as fingers buried deep in his hair and yanked back. He heard the boy's neck give a small crack with the swift movement and reveled in the small pain he knew he had caused.

"I'm taking what's mine," he repeated once more as he twisted his hand, wrapping long strands of silky red hair around his fingers. As he got closer to Kurama's scalp the boy was forced to turn his head lest his hair be pulled from its roots, though it was too late to save some strands from that fate. That feminine, thin hand wrapped around Karasu's wrist once more in an attempt to lessen the strain on his scalp. "Keep your hands to your sides, Shuichi, or the deal is off."

The dancer let out a small sob as he shakily released the man's arms and lowered his own. The sound of his anguish was cut off by the lips that slammed to his as Karasu held his head in place with one hand and resumed his movements with the other. Kurama could feel his body reacting – an amateur not used to another's hand and quickly succumbing to it.

Karasu was no lover, however. His touch was neither soft nor gentle as fingers gripped his member harshly and moved with the mannerisms of one who did not care for the pleasure of his companion.

Kurama was more than certain Karasu enjoyed his pain and he had to keep his hands fisted against his own thighs to keep from using them against him.

He knew if he did than this man would make good on his threat.

A tongue pushed past his bruising lips, wetting the already swollen orifices. The redhead tried to pull his head away, certain he would gag (or just fully vomit) if Karasu invaded any further. Fingers tightened in his hair and he let out a whimper, for which he immediately condemned himself.

He could _feel_ the other smirk against his lips.

The hand gripping him suddenly moved, releasing his swollen member and burying further between his legs. His thighs tightened on their own accord, trying to keep the intruding limb away from it's obvious goal and fists twitched by his side, one half raising in the temptation to grab that arm and pull it away from him.

He was doing this for his friends. For Hiei. _Just think about Hiei_.

However, when a fingernail, femininely extended past the pad of the finger (a feature Hiei definitely did not have) ran along the rim of his entrance, he gasped out in surprise, eyes snapping open.

Karasu shoved his tongue down his throat and he gagged.

Jerking away and trying not to cough as Karasu's cruel laughter filled the room, Kurama turned his head away from the man, hair pulling but meeting no further resistance. Lips brushed his ear as the vindictive laugh died against his flesh.

"Every other person here can pay and fuck anyone but you." The boy could not keep his body from jerking again as that finger moved around his entrance – taunting. Karasu was _trying_ to arouse him further. The blush on the boy's cheeks was proof enough of that.

"I've wanted and I've waited." The words were hissed as the tip of that finger, nothing more than the fingernail to the pad, slipped in. It was hardly enough to feel, but Kurama knew he was already violated and that made it all the worse. "And now I'm going to fuck you until there's nothing left to fuck."

He knew there was water in his eyes – tears he was fiercely holding back for the sake of his own pride: pride that bubbled with the anger in his chest. With a glare he didn't know he was capable of, he met Karasu's violet, hungry eyes. "That's statutory rape."

The man's eyes flashed, widening every so slightly in glee, and the redhead had to wonder if throwing a threat out – more a challenge, really – was such a smart idea in the end.

"Yes," Karasu whispered, gripping his hair once more to turn the boy's head so he could press pale lips to pale flesh. "And anyone who finds out about it will also find out about Yomi…"

Kurama's eyes widened as a finger pressed past his entrance – tight muscles unused to such contact and he bit his lip to keep the sound that wanted to come out – cried to come out – locked away inside.

He didn't know which was worse. The threat or the action behind it.

But Karasu was far from over and another finger was added, pushing up beside the second and spreading muscle farther than it was meant to go with no preparation for such actions. "…And the bar."

Kurama gasped, hand going to Karasu's wrist, trying to pull his hand out from his slacks. If the dark-haired man noticed the breaking of their 'deal' he said nothing, instead just licking the rim of the redhead's ear before delivering his next threat.

"And of course, your little boyfriend." The third finger was shoved violently up to the others and Kurama felt something _rip_. He didn't even know that was possible with a finger, but he knew from the pain that it had happened.

Kurama let loose a sob, tugging at the arm that tortured him so. Karasu suddenly released his hair, fingers digging into the redhead's arm and ripping it away. He cried out as his arm was pulled behind his back. Karasu, three fingers still fully thrust inside of him, pressed the boy to him, pinning his hand between their bodies.

"You wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Kurama screamed out, his other hand desperately clawing at Karasu's arm as those three fingers spread apart, forcing his muscle to spread as well. Nails dug into his arm once more, pulling him away from the hand buried between his legs and pinning his arm to his side, keeping their bodies back to chest with a pinned limb in between.

Another cry tore from the redhead's lips as Karasu pulled his fingers out of him, to the tip of the nail. He could feel his hot breath against his ear, brushing strands of his hair. "I'll make you scream my name before I'm done with you, whore."

Kurama cried out as three fingers were thrust into him up to the third knuckle and he was sure he felt blood.

Karasu grinned against crimson hair that brushed his cheek. Warm liquid began flowing between his fingers and he playfully, almost experimentally, wiggled the tips of each around. A whimper brought him all the satisfaction he needed.

He'd made his little virgin bleed.

With a grin that even demons would shudder at, Karasu began pulling his fingers out again when a knock at the door suddenly interrupted his movements.

Silence filled the room as Kurama, head bowed and hair obscuring his face, tried to find a way to breathe and Karasu looked to the door with cool, if not annoyed, eyes.

After a moment another knock sounded and Karasu cursed. Ripping his fingers from within Kurama – causing another cry to issue forth, he turned to the door, wondering how exactly the person on the other side was going to hear them in a somewhat-sound proofed room.

"What is it?" he barked out, all forms of cool maliciousness replaced by pure anger. Kurama, shaking as he tried to climb off of Karasu, was pulled back to the man's lap even as Yomi – his boss and the closest thing he'd had to a father in so many years – walked into the room.

The redhead couldn't even look up to meet the blind man's sightless gaze.

"Well?" Karasu asked, his voice speaking volumes of his annoyance at the interruption.

Yomi gave a small bow, bringing an almost dog-like whimper to Kurama's lips. Karasu shushed him with four nails that dug into his hip. If the owner of the bar noticed, he said nothing.

"I apologize for the interruption, sir," the blind man began as he straightened, long black hair parting neatly over his shoulders. "But an emergency situation has arisen. Kurama, it's your mother. I'll need to speak to you immediately."

Kurama, head lifting at the very mention of the word, watched as Yomi beckoned with his hand. Confused, but not anywhere near stupid enough to miss the obvious escape his boss was creating for him, he tried once more to rise.

Nails dug into his hip momentarily and he paused, glancing at the hand wrapped around him and up the arm to the owner. Karasu was positively fuming as he regarded Yomi – violet eyes alight with his fury and just barely contained by the calm exterior he usually wore.

"Kurama, are you coming?" The innocence didn't seem to fool either of them, especially the redhead who knew just how well aware of his surroundings Yomi always was.

Karasu slowly withdrew his arm and Kurama stumbled off of him, half collapsing as his legs tried to support him. He was shaking badly as he stood and realized with sudden terror that he could feel a small amount of liquid just beginning to run down his thigh.

Yomi took several steps forward, extending his hand and helping the half-collapsed dancer back to his feet. As Kurama looked up to meet his closed eyes, he caught a small, worried smile on the older man's lips.

And then blue was distracting his vision and he was being led out of the room by an extremely worried Botan. The second he had passed the door, glancing back to see Yomi still standing and having not moved, giant arms wrapped around him.

With a yelp he was lifted off the ground. Kurama turned to see Toguro, the bouncer of the bar, picking him up. Botan was bouncing nervously by his side as the man, stoic as always, turned and started for Yomi's office using a side hallway that kept them away from the guests and bar-goers.

Too surprised to say anything (after all, the man Hiei had rightly nicknamed _Giant_, tended to take away your words just by looking at him), Kurama just relaxed in his arms as Botan nervously mumbled beside them both.

For the first time since Hiei had kissed him that night, he felt safe again.

-o-o-o-

Back in the room, Karasu was regarding Yomi with angry, calculating eyes. He was fairly certain the man before him was more than he appeared to be. He was even more certain that underestimating him would be a stupid, and possibly fatal, mistake.

"Am I to be refunded?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of the blind man.

Yomi squared his shoulders, finally turning to face him fully once he was sure Kurama had been safely taken out of the room. He seemed to think for a moment – something that had Karasu narrowing his eyes as he was sure the man already had an answer for him.

"You have used enough of your hour," came the politely cold reply. With another bow, Yomi turned for the door. As he departed, his words floated back to Karasu with the utmost confidence and yet the deadliest of threats. "In the future, I would remind you that the dancers are not to be touched."

The door shut and Karasu resisted the urge to throw something at it. He looked down at his hands, clenching them in his anger. He paused, however, as something caught his eye.

With a smirk, he raised one pale hand up to eye level and stared at the shimmering strands of red hair wrapped around each finger. Slowly, he raised the other hand and his smirk turned into nothing less than a Cheshire grin at the blood, still wet, upon three digits.

Comparing the two, Karasu was rather pleased to find that Kurama's hair was the very same color as his blood.

-o-o-o-

Yomi's office was rather nicely furnished for a man who ran a club and oddly decorated for being such. Bookshelves lined one wall, perhaps the most out-of-place furnishing in the room beyond the large, dark oak desk that stood before one wall, covered in neatly stacked papers.

Kurama was laid gently on a black leather couch, leaning against the sharp corners of the square arm. It was one of those 'modern' styled lounge seats that looked like someone watched too much _Jetsons _as a child and took the fashion style of the show to heart.

The redhead gave a light smile, trying to convey that he was fine, to both the blue bobble-headed girl bouncing around him in never-ending worry and the giant that had carried him in. The two, former dressed in tight black pants and nothing short of a bright pink bikini top; the latter in a dark green blazer with the boring, every day black slacks, black shirt look, were more than out of place in the office of redwood walls and dimly lit desk lamps.

Yomi walked in to find the three in such a sight, the youngest trying discreetly to dry any tears that may have fallen or pain that might show through his features while the other two fussed in their own ways. Toguro turned his head in complete silence (said description being 'his own way') to find their boss opening the door.

With a light nod to the blind man he turned back to Kurama. "Are you alright?"

The redhead gave a small smile of appreciation and nodded, rubbing his face with the back of his sleeve in hopes of taking away all proof of any transgressions that had occurred.

Every inch of him felt…dirty.

"I'm fine now, thank you. Both of you."

Botan suddenly sat down on the edge of the couch next to him and Kurama scooted slightly to give her the room, opting to sit up on his own and preferring it to the weak, and somewhat inferior, feeling that lying down brought him right now.

What had happened tonight was _not_ going to make him weaker. He would not be looked down on or treated as a child because of Karasu.

"Oh, sweetie," Botan whispered, tucking some of the redhead's hair behind his ear. He had to close his eyes and take in several deep breaths to keep from swatting her hand away. He didn't want to be mothered.

Though, he had to admit, he was more than grateful to this woman, his closest friend, right now. It was Botan who had gone and told Yomi that he was obviously in trouble and it was that action that had, apparently, led his boss and surrogate father to the door, stopping Karasu.

"Blue, I'm alright, _really_," he insisted, giving her another smile and putting a hand gently on hers.

Yomi closed the door as Toguro took his leave, having played his role in the fiasco of the night. "Be that as it may," the blind man began as he crossed the room to stand before two of his closest employees. They both immediately moved down on the couch, not a word passed between them, so that Yomi could sink down on the rather uncomfortable leather object himself, "what happened tonight was unacceptable and cannot happen again."

The man, eyes forever closed, smiled gently when Kurama immediately shifted and leaned against him, placing his head on Yomi's shoulder. He could feel the guilt washing off of him and he raised his opposite hand, gently running fingers through the red strands. "I think we should talk about you quitting."

"What?" Kurama shot up, almost banging heads with Botan with how far he leaned back to stare into Yomi's sightless, unopened gaze. "N-no!"

Botan, who was shocked (and able to dodge the head-blow, luckily), rounded on Kurama, her pink eyes wide with worry, fear, and a bit of anger at the redhead's abject refusal. This was not the first time she'd heard the two discuss such things and it always began this way.

But tonight was different. "Kurama!" she almost scolded, though she hardly ever acted motherly to the boy she considered a brother and friend to her. "You were almost _raped_!"

"But I wasn't!" the boy protested, fisting his hands in the material of his slacks. "You guys came in time." He turned pleading eyes to the man he considered his father. "Yomi…please."

Yomi frowned slightly, nothing more than a curious twitch to his brow, as he focused on his best dancer. After a moment of thought, he tilted his head in the direction he knew the blue-headed stripper to be. "Botan, please excuse us for a moment. I would like to speak to Kurama alone."

The mother looked worried but she relented with a nod, standing. "Of course, sir."

Kurama watched her leave, an apologetic look in his eyes. Yomi waited until the door to his office was closed once more before turning his head towards the boy he took in four years ago, not looking at him but addressing him nonetheless.

"Kurama, you are like a son to me. Tell me what's wrong. Why are you so fearful to stop now?"

Silence was his only reply for several long moments and he wondered if he would have to poke the young man who still acted like a boy in so many ways. But after a few minutes there was a low sigh that held with it the frustrations and sorrows of a cornered animal who knew he could fight but wasn't sure how.

Yomi immediately picked his hand off of his lap as he heard more than felt Kurama shift and pick his head up off the club owner's shoulder. Several seconds later he felt the waterfall of red hair pool in his lap followed by the weight of his 'son's' head. With a soft smile, he began running his fingers through the boy's strands, hoping to calm whatever fears he had with just the touch, but knowing that if they involved Karasu, far more would be needed.

"He found out."

The whisper was soft but tinged more in anger than the fear or sorrow Yomi had been expecting. With a small furrow to his brow, he kept his eyes on a spot somewhere across the wall (and without vision, he truly didn't know what he was staring at, as the only sound these walls made was muffled rock music).

"Hiei?"

Kurama shook his head, the movement shaking Yomi's thigh back and forth. "Karasu heard Hiei ask…He knows I'm underage."

Yomi was silent for a long time after that statement, something he knew was hurting Kurama but he wasn't sure how to react at first. It was something he'd always calculated into his plans; what would they do if someone found out Kurama's true age? But that wasn't something he had thought had happened tonight.

He just thought Karasu had taken it too far.

"I…see," Yomi said slowly, ignoring the irony he would normally point out. "Kurama…I warned you-"

The redhead cut him off, fingers playing with the pants' material near the club-owner's knee. "I want to pay off my debt to you."

Yomi gave a soft sigh that was unreadable. "Any debt you could have had to me was gone the night you agreed to come out of the cold air, Kurama. You gave a lonely man a purpose."

Though the words sounded perfect, Kurama knew the reality hadn't been. Raising a thirteen-year-old in the apartment space above a strip club hadn't been an easy task. And the redhead was well aware of the state he had been in four years ago.

"You…" the redhead blinked away the tears such memories recalled. Four years was a long time…a long time to forget things. To forget what _pain_ really felt like. "You and everyone here paid for clothes…food. You gave me a room, a job-"

"You demanded it," Yomi interrupted this time, commenting on the last of Kurama's list. He could feel the redhead smile against his leg.

"I wanted to pay off my-"

"Now we are merely going in circles!" The annoyance in Yomi's voice was clearly nothing more than amusement and it grew into a full smirk when he felt Kurama try and hide his smile by burying the side of his face slightly into his adopted father's leg. "The basic keystone of this repeating conversation is that I am uncomfortable with you working here anymore."

Though he hated to bring seriousness back to a conversation that had finally lightened, Yomi knew that not discussing this would only put the redhead in danger.

"Are you kicking me out?"

Closed eyes were half hidden by the deep furrow of Yomi's brow at the small whisper. "Heavens no," he growled out, almost insulted by the question. "As my surrogate son, I will, as I have always offered, pay your way through until you get a better job."

The hand that had stilled on his knee, fingers picking at the fabric of his suit pants, dug into the fabric a little. Yomi tried not to comment on the fact that the slacks were rather expensive.

"They don't hire people who don't have a high school diploma."

"Then I will pay your way through school. College if you wish it," Yomi replied as he had so many times before. This truly was a repetitive, circular conversation whenever he held it with the boy.

"We both know you can't afford that, Yomi." Kurama closed his eyes gently as the man's fingers ran through his hair, soothing out the knots that paler, sharper hands had inflicted.

"I'll find a way."

Kurama mumbled slightly, thoughts leading back to another person and another conversation. The night had been far too long…but not all bad. "That's what he said."

Yomi frowned once more, this time truly confused. He hardly doubted Karasu had anything to do with a conversation about payments. The man seemed to have enough money to waste at the bar.

"Who?"

Green eyes slowly opened and he felt Kurama roll over to look up at him. "Hiei."

Yomi's eyebrows rose in an amused, but truly surprised, expression. "Really?" he asked, tone consisting of genuine curiosity laced with a protective happiness. Kurama nodded. "I did not realize you two were quite so serious."

"We haven't done anything." With such a whispered reply, Yomi could almost picture the pout on his son's lips and it brought a slight smirk to his own.

"But you wish to." Silence greeted him and it was the only answer he needed. "I understand. However, we are once more off topic. So, are we in agreement that you will stop working?"

"I can't."

Yomi stopped his movements to Kurama's hair, having moved his hand to the crown of the boy's head when he rolled over. The frown on his face spoke of uncertainty. "And why not? If I am to understand you correctly, even your 'serious' boyfriend wants you to do so."

He felt no smile from Kurama at his little jab to Hiei. Only a small shift against his lap as if the boy was trying to get comfortable and having no luck. "He'll tell."

This time Yomi had no confusion as to which man they were discussing. "Karasu?"

A nod confirmed it. "You'll go to jail. The bar will close and Hiei might end up in jail too."

The whisper from the boy had Yomi wishing, not for the first time since he had taken in Kurama, that he had his eyesight back, if only to be able to look at Kurama and _show _him with his eyes alone that everything would be okay. A father should be able to do that for his son.

But he could not, so his words would have to be comfort enough. "I would rather be in jail than see you hurt or touched further by that man. I should not have let this go on as far as it has."

"What kind of son would I be to put my father in jail?" Kurama looked up once more to meet Yomi's sightless gaze. It wasn't often that either of them broke the silent barrier that separated their family – a barrier consisting of one fact: they weren't true father and son.

But it was times like these that made that barrier nonexistent.

"I don't want you to keep working," Yomi continued, keeping himself on topic and not quipping at the comment. "At least not with Karasu as your client."

"He'll tell."

"Then let him. I can always fire you before he does and say that I discovered your true age and had to let you go. It would require more detailed planning, but the police might buy it."

Kurama sent him a doubtful look he could practically feel, and he gave a sigh. "I think I will also hold a discussion with Karasu." The very mention of such had Kurama interrupting before the words were fully out of his mouth. He held up his hand to stop the boy and with a chuckle added, "I think I'll have Toguro come as well."

The redhead, by the tenseness of his body, still didn't seem to like the idea, but did lie back down against his legs and allow the gentle hand through his hair to return to its previous activity. "Until then, the matter is resolved. Now, are you injured?"

Kurama shook his head. "Just sore."

The older man couldn't help the amusement that tainted his voice or the smirk on his lips as he replied, "Than I think I'll call Hiei to come and take care of that."

"Yomi!"

His son's wide-eyed expression had to be priceless and the jerk of him sitting up to regard him made the club-owner bark out a laugh. "To take care of you, is what I meant, of course! I'm sure you don't want Botan or Jin looking down there!"

The redhead sputtered. "I-I don't need anyone looking anywhere, thank you very much!"

Yomi's expression grew somber, however, as he met Kurama's eyes. "How many?"

The dancer's silence made it clear he understood the question.

"Botan had me listen to the feeds," Yomi said softly, speaking of the hidden microphones they had in each room. It wasn't for the sick reason that most would immediately suspect (and anyone who dared accuse his father of such would meet the end of Kurama's fist) but to keep his employees safe. Behind closed doors was where everything could go wrong very quickly.

The redhead now had first hand proof of such.

"You were in pain." Kurama winced at the knowledge that Yomi had heard him. It was degrading, embarrassing…humiliating and painful. "How many?"

Kurama shifted uncomfortably. The blood had stopped long ago but he could feel the drying liquid still on his skin: a reminder of what had transpired that night. "Three."

Yomi nodded in acceptance of the fact. He said nothing more, just gently putting his hand atop Kurama's head. "Do you want me to call Hiei?"

The head beneath him shook. "I don't want him to know."

The club owner nodded, respecting his decision. "You'll be sorry tomorrow when you can't walk."

Kurama turned to him, a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. "Then may I request the day off, _Dad_?"

Yomi, knowing that such a defense mechanism had always existed within the boy, chose merely to indulge him this time. "Well, I'm certainly not paying you to dance with a sore ass – though that might be a sight to see, _son_."

Arms suddenly tightened around his waist – a movement quicker than his ears could follow and he was surprised by the tight hug in which his son enveloped him.

"Thank you."

Yomi just held Kurama tightly, running his hands once more through his hair and wishing he could do more for the boy he had found wandering the streets so many years ago. "I love you, Kurama, as so many here do."

'_And I will deal with Karasu_,' he thought, angry at that man for having inflicted pain and induced fear in the boy whose arms were wrapped so tightly around him. However, he was also angry at himself for letting it get so far. _'I think I'll have a talk with Jaganshi-san as well.'_

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 11_

End

-o-o-o-

Okay, hopefully that was pretty good…I didn't like it when I finished because I sort of cranked it out for Blue's B-Day...but reading it after KyoHana Beta-ed for me, I liked it a bit more than before and am more confident. Hopefully everyone was satisfied.

Hope you enjoyed it and HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD B-DAY, BLUE!!

**Author Notes**:

_Karasu/Kurama scene_: Okay...that is my first step towards a lemon and as explicit as I've ever gotten. Er...let me know how I did?

_Yomi_: Yomi's affections for Kurama in this story are completely platonic. He does see Kurama as his son (as the boy is much younger than him and is still, truly a boy). Nothing written above is meant to be taken as anything more than the love of father and son.

And I decided that I have enough evil plans with Yomi in other stories that I thought I'd give him a break in this story :P

**End Author Notes**:

Have a good day/night and please review!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: Fu-Fu-Fu

**Consent Laws as applied to This Story**:

_-__**Age of Maturity (adulthood) in Japan**_: 18

_-__**Legal age of consent for sexual conduct:**_13

-_**Rehabilitation and Protection of Sexually Assaulted Children**_: Children are placed under guardianship or in an institution (after a diagnosis of the physical and mental damage)

**Chapter Note**: This chapter is for **BlueUtopiah**– may indecent smut take all your troubles far far away (and may friends chase away anything smut misses!) And **KyoHana** – may some good fluff (mixed with the appropriate smut, of course) lighten a stressful day, wherever you are and however long it took you to get there this morning.

**Warning**: Rating has reached R (Mature) at this point in time. Stop reading if you're incapable of handling it please!

-o-o-o-

_**Content**_

_Chapter 12_

-o-o-o-

This was wrong.

It was wrong – immoral, illegal, indecent (a bunch of other 'I'-things, he was sure). It wasn't okay to lead a seventeen-year-old boy into a relationship with someone far older than him.

Hiei paused, dragging his fingers across his skin as he pulled his hands away from his face. He sat on his bed, the carpet soft against his bare feet: his light blue pajama bottoms a clear indication of his intent to sleep: his tired eyes and haggard look a clear indication of his failure to do so.

He hadn't been leading Kurama on.

As many ways as he tried to look at it, as many times as he told himself that dating such a young boy (and one with obvious emotional baggage) wasn't a wise idea…he still wanted the relationship.

Something had seriously changed since he'd met Kurama. It wasn't obvious in his every day activities, nor was it the type of change that would alter humanity as they knew it. It was just something of which he'd become aware.

For the first time in years he _liked_ someone. And, truth be told (as Hiei really wasn't the type to keep his opinion to himself) he wanted Kurama.

Images of the redhead spread out beneath him, flushed, panting, _pleading_; his skin just beginning to shine from a thin layer of perspiration, only validating the heat rushing through his body, swirling in his lower regions. Heat Hiei would gladly fuel if only so he could take it all away with his own aching need.

A growl erupted through the room as Hiei stood up quickly, opting to pace instead of remain on the bed. It was truly no wonder why he hadn't gotten much sleep.

And yes, he had to admit, he _wanted_ Kurama. He wanted him… _a lot._

But it didn't change the fact that the boy was underage, a stripper (or whatever it was he called himself), and (basically) an orphan. And yet…

Hiei sank back down onto the bed, burying his head in his hands once more. Fingers threaded through his thick hair and he let out another groan of distress.

And yet he was so much more. Beautiful, talented, funny. He deserved more than the labels of society and law.

He deserved a life. A better life than the one he seemed content currently to lead.

Hiei let out a groan and fell backwards onto the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. His thoughts continued going in circles: his body wanted to love Kurama, his mind wanted to do the right thing, and all he'd come up with as a result was an erection and a headache.

He'd never had this sort of dilemma before now. His mind and his heart had never really disagreed to such an extent and it was starting to irritate him. He supposed he'd do what every cliché movie, story, song, and supposed parental guidance would tell him to do.

His body wasn't going to like that choice one bit.

The soft, sing-song chime of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts and he frowned. It was almost – he looked behind him at the red numbers displayed on his nightstand – six? When the hell had it gotten that late… Early?

He shook his head, standing and making his way out of his bedroom. As he walked across the loft hallway that overlooked the foyer and front door, the far bedroom door opened. Coming from the room that mirrored his own in position within the house, Yukina blinked owlishly at him.

"Brother?" She was in her sleepwear as well, rubbing one eye with her fist and looking for all the world like the innocent little sister he strove so hard to protect. "Who's at the door?"

"Go back to sleep, Yukina," was his only reply as he reached the stairwell next to her. He gave her a calming smile (one almost unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know him) and started down the wooden steps.

As his bare feet hit the cold, hardwood floors of the foyer, he heard his sister's door shut slowly. She'd obviously paused, wondering if she should go against her brother's words and follow him down as well. Hiei was glad she hadn't as he made his way to the door and the tall, shadowy figure of a man became visible through the distorted glass on either side of the house's main entrance.

Warily, as it was a bit early to be receiving visitors, he opened the door. It took a moment of shock (expressed by pure expressionless staring) before the photographer was capable of registering the identity of his guest. To be honest, a damp club owner shaking out a white and black umbrella was really not what he had been expecting.

"Ah, good morning, Jaganshi-san," the blind man said cheerfully as he wrapped the water-proof cloth around its wire frame and Velcro-ed it shut. "I do apologize for the early visit but I think there's something we should discuss."

Hiei glanced back up to the second floor of his apartment, to the hallway with its half-wall railing overlooking the first floor and leading to the two sibling's bedrooms. Yukina's door was still closed. As for himself…well, it wasn't like the blind man was going to notice his shirtless appearance, anyway.

"Alright, come in." He stepped back, allowing Yomi to enter. He turned and started for the kitchen, past the open living room that connected to the foyer, an informal greeting room in Japanese style. He got only a few feet before he remembered that his guest was, in fact, blind and had no idea where he was going. Turning back, he watched the club owner close the front door and slip his shoes off. "Do you need…er…"

"I'll be fine. Please do inform me of any stairs, though." The blind man began to walk towards him, his steps as confident as always.

Hiei nodded. Damn it, the man was blind! He gave a slightly aggravated sound, mostly at his own expense, to replace his earlier gesture. "There are two stairs on the foyer. You're about two feet from them."

Yomi merely nodded and, despite Hiei's doubts, stepped down both of them as if he could see quite well. With a shake of his head (not really wanting to know how the man could do that), he turned and started down the hallway to the kitchen. Yomi followed perfectly.

Hiei pulled out a chair from the small breakfast table the two siblings had bought together long ago, and seated himself as Yomi rested his hand on the back of another chair and pulled it out. Part of the photographer was itching with curiosity to know how he did that.

"What do you want?" Not exactly the same question the inquiring side of him wanted to ask, but a sufficient one considering the early morning meeting they were now holding.

As Yomi settled into the chair, he gave a cheerful smile. It made Hiei dread what was coming, for some reason. "I wish to discuss matters concerning Kurama."

Hiei's eyes immediately narrowed. He wasn't stupid – he'd just learned of Kurama's true age mere hours ago and now this man – a man who seemed a father-figure to his redhead – was sitting before him with a smile that was too cheerful at six o'clock in the damned morning.

No, Hiei wasn't stupid.

Unfortunately, neither was Yomi and the photographer should not have been surprised that the man seemed to sense the tension. He held up a hand to stop anything Hiei might have had to say (not that he was planning to be the first to speak in this situation).

"I know you are aware of his age and history," the club owner began calmly. "I am here as a concerned father…figure." The brief pause between the two words made Hiei's right eye twitch slightly. Yomi obviously considered himself a parent to Kurama, even if the law (or others) didn't see it that way.

For some reason, it actually made Hiei glad. Whoever he was, this man seemed to be loved by his redheaded boyfriend.

"I wish only to discuss his well-being with you," Yomi continued. "I know you've only known one another for a matter of months and it must seem early for the imposing 'father-boyfriend' sit-down, but Kurama is a special case."

"And what exactly do we need to 'discuss'?"

Yomi's smile seemed to lose some of its cheer, becoming a more appropriate gesture for this hour of the morning. "There's a client, I'm sure you know of him – Karasu – that has been giving Kurama some trouble and its beginning to worry me. I was hoping to hear your thoughts on the matter and see if the two of us couldn't work something out to protect our…young friend."

Hiei merely nodded and, this time, didn't bother to correct the mistake.

-o-o-o-

It was well past noon by the time Kurama woke. It was nothing unusual for the redhead's normal routine, but, then again, he wasn't usually fast asleep on the floor (well, mattress…wherever it was in the room) by midnight. The reason for his early night, however, quite possibly warranted the extra hours of sleep.

He slowly sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his bottom and the flash of pain brought on by whatever damage had been done to him. He rubbed the curve of his rear – more for a comforting effect than any actual pain relief – and closed his eyes against the offending light filtering into his room.

It could have been worse.

Thinking back on it, Kurama easily saw how lucky he had been that Botan had seen his distress or that Yomi had listened to her suspicions and taken action. He was lucky that last night had gone no further than fingers. Of course, considering whose fingers they were…

Kurama shuddered and quickly opened his eyes, welcoming the light that filled the room with a warm, if not bright, glow.

Going anywhere with Karasu was going too far.

Another shudder passed through his body, followed closely by a wave of revulsion. That man was still on him. Scrambling to his feet amongst the clutter of his room, the redhead quickly headed for the bathroom down the hall.

Within minutes he was standing under the scorching waterfall of the shower-head, letting the water cleanse his skin until it was red and raw. Probably not the healthiest solution, he mused, but it sure as hell made him feel better.

Emotionally, at least. With a grimace, knowing it needed to be done despite the pain it was likely to cause, he ran his hand over the curve of his bottom. Closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to the tiled wall, he set to cleaning himself of the blood spilt the previous night.

The hot water helped him to forget about what he was doing, though it didn't keep his cheeks from tinting pink or his lip from protesting the tight clamp his teeth had on it. His mind forcibly turned to different matters, trying to keep his brain busy so it wouldn't have any time to contemplate his own actions.

Karasu wasn't just going to let him quit, which was his biggest fear in the current situation. If he knew the man at all, which he had to admit he didn't (the overwhelming lust and anger was volatile – temperamental – resulting in a very unpredictable, very dangerous man), Karasu was likely to retaliate with something drastic.

But if he knew Yomi, which he could safely say he did better than the back of his hand (such an odd saying, he mused as he flexed the hand braced against the tiles), than his 'father' had planned for anything Karasu would do. Kurama, at the very least, would be safe.

It was everyone else he was worried about.

Yomi would have thought of a back-up plan for now. Something along the lines of firing him so that the police couldn't arrest either of them. But that wouldn't stop Karasu from taking his anger out on the club owner.

Then again, that was what the bouncers were for (by stature alone, Toguro-san was more befitting the title of bodyguard). He wouldn't be surprised if the blind man made sure to be accompanied by one of them at all times. And, if Kurama was honest, he would probably end up with a shadow of his own.

That only left Hiei.

Kurama let out a small whimper, placing his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower. His fingers had been slowly stretching out the sore and mistreated muscles and, with his mind occupied by the current situation, he had been able to stave off most of the stomach-churning sensations.

But with the icon of his developing love coming to mind, his stomach knots struggled between terrified disgust and hormonal pleasure.

And thinking of the stout but muscular little photographer while touching himself amidst the hot steam and water was not helping the healing process, so to speak.

Green eyes shuddered and fluttered closed, breath fogging against the cool tiles so close to him. His fingers worked gently around his entrance, still sore from the previous mistreatment. But the ease with which his over-active and hormonal imagination replaced those fingers with Hiei's, had him feeling not quite so hurt or used any longer.

A low moan escaped his throat as he pushed one digit in, past the tight ring. He'd never touched himself this way before and the odd sensation of his body enveloping his own finger made him flush with embarrassment and heat. He wondered if Hiei's fingers would ever feel what his did now.

He let out a louder groan out at the sudden rush of blood brought on by that thought (and the images it conjured). Long, thin fingers dug into the grouting between the tiles, desperate to root their owner to something solid. He needed more. With a mournful release of breath, he pulled his fingers out of himself and turned, sliding down the wall of the shower. In the puddle of water forming at his feet, he spread his legs, bending them at the knee, and took hold of himself.

"Hiei..." The heated whisper jump-started his hand and he began to move, gaining speed with each thrust. His hips twitched every time he reached his base, desiring a hotter warmth to envelope him. His mind's eye could easily imagine Hiei, his body muscular but small, dominating his lithe form. Tan skin would flush against pale peach, eliciting moans from both of them as their needs pressed to one another.

He moaned between his heavy breaths, his speed becoming more frantic. Red eyes would stare at him with all the intensity and lust he knew was there. And Hiei would lower his hands, spreading the redhead's legs. He'd take his length – the size of which Kurama could only imagine – and press it against his entrance. Heat would surge between them and he would whimper his lover's name.

And then Hiei would thrust into him, filling him with his heat.

Kurama cried out for his would-be lover as he came into his hand. He sighed, letting the last of his pleasure roll over him before standing and washing himself off. His face, flushed from the intimate moment he'd more imagined than experienced, darkened with embarrassment. It wasn't like him to act so immature and…well, like a hormonal teenager.

It was one thing to indulge in fantasies, but another to try and enact them in the shower of a relatively public bathroom. What if Botan had walked down the hall – or worse, little Rakura?

Ashamed at his behavior (but he couldn't deny that he had enjoyed the teenaged moment he'd rarely before let himself indulge in), he quickly finished his shower, making sure once more that not only was all the evidence of the previous night's activities gone from his body, but that he could walk without any impairment. He wrapped a towel around his waist and hoped any passing tenant of the building would pass his flushed cheeks off as a result of a really hot shower.

And it certainly had been hot.

His face only darkened further at the indecent thought and the memories of a certain photographer it called forth. He quickly left the bathroom, red hair hiding his embarrassment as he darted down the empty hallway.

-o-o-o-

It was nearly five in the evening by the time Kurama made it downstairs to where Botan was. The blue-haired woman was sitting in one of the booths, a plate of French fries and chicken fingers in front of her. Kurama couldn't help the smile at the foreign, but simple, food.

He slid into the seat next to her. She grinned widely at him, her bubbly nature out one more, now that her favorite redhead wasn't in any immediate danger. The gesture was contagious and Kurama found himself returning it as his own smile grew.

"Good evening!" she said in her cheerful voice. She stood, leaning over the table to kiss Kurama on the cheek. The boy laughed gently, rubbing his fingers over the soft skin.

"My, you're in a good mood this evening."

Botan blushed immediately, her happiness sinking into a more regretful and guilty expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kurama. I know that last night was hard on you and I've no right to be celebrating. I should be angrier than a rabid opossum, but I just got good news, you see!"

Kurama had to let several seconds of silence pass between them as his mind managed to process the whirlwind of speech (and pause awkwardly on angry opossums). He let out a weaker smile, not wanting to be reminded of last night.

Or the fact that despite his initial thought process in the shower, he hadn't come to a conclusion on how to keep Karasu from hurting his loved ones to get to him. Not that it mattered, currently, as the word 'shower' sent him into another flustered bout of redness.

"Botan," he began, forgoing the use of her nickname to show his seriousness, "you shouldn't be angry over what happened. It just…happened." Despite being famous for his flowing language and ample ability to manipulate words, he was drawing a bit of a blank on how to explain his own reaction to the situation. "If it hadn't been for you, more might have happened."

Seeing the blue-haired woman's distressed and horrified face, he quickly decided that that was all that needed to be said and a change in topic was desperately needed. "Now, what's this good news?"

Botan, thankfully, relaxed back into her bubbly self. She held up her hand, pointer finger and thumb outstretched as she winked at him. "You're looking at Ms. Rei, soon to be Sarasaki Jr. High School's new eighth grade biology teacher!"

Kurama's eyes widened, his mouth dropping slightly. It quickly formed into a large smile. "You got the teaching position! Botan, that's wonderful!"

He quickly stood from the booth and scooted onto Botan's side, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm so proud of you, Blue!" he said, holding her tightly. She was giggling within his hold. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks, Red," she said softly, her bubbly joy melting into gentle composure. "Thanks for believing in me."

Kurama kissed her forehead before laying his head on her shoulder. "You deserve it, Blue. You really do." The two remained like that until Yomi entered the club some thirty minutes later, adjusting his suit around him. Toguro entered behind as both employees picked their heads up to look at the club owner.

"Good evening, Yomi-sama!" Botan cried out happily, waving excitedly to him. He gave her a gentle smile, despite not being able to see the gesture. He had a feeling what she was doing, anyway.

Kurama stood as Yomi approached the booth. The two embraced gently, a hug between father and son. The older man held tightly to him, a little more so than usual and the redhead let him, leaning into the warmth and laying his head on the older man's chest.

"I trust that you're well?" The inquiry, spoken softly to remain a private conversation between them, was returned with a nod. Yomi ran a hand through Kurama's hair, taken a moment to savor his adopted son's health. "Alright then."

The blind man pulled back some, holding the redhead an arm's length away. "I want you to go upstairs and pack for a few days. Jaganshi-san will be arriving in less than an hour to pick you up."

The sudden change in topic threw Kurama for a moment and he stood, staring at the man he thought of as his father. His brain processed the information slowly, but when he finally grasped exactly what he was saying, a small anger boiled up in him (overpowering the brief thrill brought on by Hiei's name).

"You're ushering me away, expecting me to hide like a coward!" Though the outcry was not very loud, it rang clear for the other two near them to hear. Botan, confused, made a soft noise of disapproval.

Yomi let a small, almost sad smile grace his lips. It was true that he wanted Kurama to 'hide' in a manner of speaking. His talk that morning with Jaganshi had only concluded what both men already knew separately: Karasu was not going to stop just because someone told him 'no.'

"I will be confronting Karasu tonight, should he show up," (which they all knew he would), "and I would prefer you not to be present at the time." Kurama's anger was dissipating; Yomi could feel the lessening tension in the short distance between them. His son knew he was only doing this for his protection. "Jaganshi-san agrees and is willing to offer his home to you."

Kurama was still frowning, thinking through the turn of events. He could not deny the light flip his stomach gave every time he thought about staying with Hiei. And he admitted that the very mention of Karasu's name currently made his throat tighten.

He hardly thought the dark man could hurt him with Yomi present, as well as the rest of the employees and customers of the bar. But Kurama still understood why his adopted parent didn't want him present. Karasu wouldn't know where he was – would have no way of finding him.

He'd be safe for several days while Karasu cooled off…if he would at all.

"So you see," Yomi continued after he did not receive an immediate response, "I'm not so much ushering you, just…gently giving a push in the right direction."

The redhead gave a light glare, but Yomi could feel the relief and humor the dancer felt through where his hands lay on the boy's shoulders.

"Don't tell me you're paying him to take me?"

Though the comment was said in some humor, the seriousness in the question was still there and, unexpectedly, it angered Yomi. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, the smiling lines around his mouth thinning. "This may not be the best place to have been raised, but I taught you at least one thing." He kept his voice low, the conversation remaining, for the most part, between the two of them. "You never sell your body, not for any price. You can sell your dances and your beauty, Kurama, but I will never allow you to sell your body. You are not a stripper and you are most certainly not a prostitute. Do you understand me?"

"Of course, Yomi." The easiness of the reply spoke of Kurama's maturity and his own acceptance of his surroundings and the conditions under which he was raised. There was gratitude, understanding, and even a bit of rebellion in that statement.

He had, after all, meant his previous comment to be taken as a form of satire.

And Yomi was glad for it. "Good," he continued with a nod, releasing the boy's shoulders. "And when the day comes that you give your body to someone, they better damn well have your heart as well."

Though he knew that it was his father's turn to make light of something he clearly saw as a serious situation, Kurama gave a soft laugh. "And I don't give anyone that without getting their heart first."

"Damn right," Yomi replied, breaking his usual composure. He sent a light frown the redhead's way, his version of a glare. "Now stop quoting me with that smug look on your face and go pack."

The redhead's laughter still rang in the air even after he disappeared up the stairs.

-o-o-o-

_Chapter 12 _

End

-o-o-o-

Sorry that post took so long. College is a time killer. Thanks to Blue and Kyo for helping me with the shower scene.

Hope you all enjoyed!


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